The final Atonement
by xiaogui
Summary: PreHP6: The victory in the 'final battle' came at a high price for Severus Snape. His friend Kingsley Shacklebolt helps him on the road to physical and psychical recovery. Drama, hurtcomfort, and the view on a slightly odd friendship. No Slash!
1. Prologue

**Title: **The final Atonement 

**Author:** XiaoGui

**Summary: **The final battle has been fought, the side of the light has won. However, Severus Snape has paid a high price. His friend Kingsley Shacklebolt helps him on the road to physical and psychical recovery. This is going to be hurt/comfort – PURE hurt/comfort; no action, no complex plot, just a view on how our Potions Master is going to deal with his situation and how others react to it. Also, this story will provide a closer look at an unusual friendship between my favourite main character and my favourite supporting character.

**Category:** Drama/Angst, a bit of melodrama and a couple of pensive moments… and **NO SLASH!** There still exists such a thing like just _friendship_ between men… Yes, there is… really:-)

**Rating:** PG-13, just to be on the safe side.

**Warnings and A/N:** There is no warning for violence or such stuff, but Snape will be out of character in some scenes, especially in the earlier chapters.  
This is the translation of my originally German fic "Die letzte Sühne", which was written before HP6. And since that one was (and still is) my first fic, it has some flaws. I corrected some of them with the translation, but some things I couldn't (or didn't want to) change. Sorry! If you want pure canon-Snape, I invite you to read my one-shots, they are better, I guess…

And since I am no native English speaker, my language will not be very sophisticated, I'm afraid… Please don't be too nitpicking :-)

**Beta:** _Persephone Lupin_ and _Ermione _for the original version and _lucidity_ for the translation. I owe them a great deal! You certainly all know of their great stories, don't you? If not, go on and read them, they are truly worth it!

One last word: enjoy!

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**The final Atonement**

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**Prologue**

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"Severus!" Minerva McGonagall called out, trying to drown out the noise of the fighting. "Hold your position! Can you hold them at bay here and provide us rear cover? I've got to aid Albus in helping Harry!"

Without waiting for an answer she hurried up the hill and behind some trees out of sight.

Before Snape found time to wonder how in Merlin's name the elderly witch - given her age - still managed to sprint in such a way, another flash of light passed before his face, missing his head just by inches. In an instant he turned around, catching the sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt, who desperately tried to fight off Bellatrix Lestrange, while the other Death Eaters had disapparated again, apparently to re-apparate and strike back in a surprise move soon. Snape aimed his wand and sent a curse towards Sirius Black's cousin, which at least diverted her attention away from Kingsley.

"The traitor!" she shrieked, aiming her wand towards Snape, but the Potions Master was on alert and his quickly cast curse took her out and gave him and Kingsley some minutes to breathe at least.

As strange as it seems, there had been something developing between Snape and the Auror lately, which nearly even resembled a kind of friendship. In recent times the two of them got along better and better, given the fact that Kingsley tended to side with Snape in arguments within the order. And after the spy's cover was blown and the Auror had been the one to rescue Snape from the fangs of the Death Eaters, the respect of the usually misanthropic Slytherin towards Kingsley had grown considerably.

"_Incarcerus_," Snape mumbled and thin ropes emanated from his wand, binding the unconscious female Death Eater.

"Thanks, Severus," panted the Auror. "That was really close now, that fury almost got me."

Snape nodded curtly, fingering gently at a deep wound on his forehead, from which blood was streaming down into his eyes. "Minerva went to catch up with Albus up the hill," he explained. "She said to aid Potter. Seems like the big showdown is not too far out and she ordered us to stay here for rear cover. Where is Moody?"

"I lost sight of him at the bridge. He didn't seem to have any grave difficulties, though – you know Moody, he's rather imperturbable. Filius on the contrary…" A sad expression dawning on his face, Kingsley dropped this head.

The Slytherin didn't stop keeping an eye on the slopes of the hill around them, where any second other Death Eaters could be apparating. "What happened?" he asked shortly.

"It was a trap," Kingsley told him, head held low. Obviously he tried to hide the shimmer of tears in his eyes. "He had been at the bridge with Dung, when suddenly five Death Eaters apparated around them. Merlin, Severus, they didn't have a chance!" he burst out. "Dung was able to dispparate in time, but Filius…" Now there was a tear at last, finding its way down the Auror's cheek and he became silent. Snape's facial features showed no change in expression, but there was a slight sting in his heart. There had been almost no one, who hadn't liked the tiny charms professor, and even Snape had got along with the ever-cheerful Flitwick rather well. He almost felt the exceptional sensation of comforting his friend. However… Flitwick would not stay the only loss, this was to be expected.

„_Plopp!"... „Plopp!".. „Plopp!"... __... „Plopp!"... „Plopp!"_

The sound of apparating wizards pulled Snape out of his musings in an instant. He turned around, realising that Kingsley had already defended himself against Avery and Rookwood, while Nott cast a curse towards him, that he dodged at the last moment. While sending another well-aimed _Impedimenta_ in Nott's direction, a green flash of light grazed his shoulder, ripping open a deep gash. A short gasp of pain escaped him, but he was quick-reacting enough to pull up his wand and cast a protective charm – just in time, since two more green flashes bounced back from an invisible wall just before his face. While gripping his injured arm, with blood dripping over his slender fingers and soaking the edge of the ripped-open robe, he caught a glimpse of Kingsley being hit by a curse and sinking to the ground.

"Oh joy… the traitor…" MacNair sneered, while Nott beside him shook off the last remaining after-effects of Snape's curse and rose slowly. Antonin Dolohov aimed his wand at the injured Potions Master, while Avery and Rookwood let go of Kingsley to come near as well. Slowly they began to circle Snape, who struggled not to pant too obviously.

"You have no chance, you fools," Snape ground out through clenched teeth. "This very moment Voldemort has to face Dumbledore, Potter and his predicted fate."

The Death Eaters flinched at the name of their master, Snape noticed almost with satisfaction. While he evaluated potential means of escape, the circle of the Death Eaters drew closer and closer. Disapparation was out of the question, as his enemies had their wands at the ready to strike at the least motion on his part.

Avery woke up Bellatrix with a brief _Enervate_ and helped the woman out of her bindings. Clutching his shoulder, from which an unusually thick stream of blood was pouring, Snape cursed inwardly. That blasted curse had not been one with which he was familiar. Apparently the Dark Lord had been inventing some new dark titbits for his minions lately. He thought of Albus, Minerva and Potter, hoping to be able to at least buy them some time here.

Suddenly MacNair fell to the ground, screaming out loud. The unguarded and obviously awoken Kingsley had cast a curse on him from behind and was just sending another one in Nott's direction, while Snape took advantage of the general confusion and stunned Rookwood with a quick spell.

He just realised Dolohov and Bellatrix casting simultaneous curses, as the flashes already hit him and severe pain seared through his body. Screaming out loud, Snape sank to the ground and while still falling, his body was hit with another curse. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Dolohov and Avery had fallen down themselves, and his wand slipped from his infirm fingers.

Blood was drowning the grass around his body, while he heard distant voices calling his name. In vain Snape tried to keep his eyes open, and eventually darkness embraced his consciousness.

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That's it, we are done with action. Next chapter will be hospital wing, harhar :-D 

**Thanks for reading! And please always keep in mind: reviews make writers happy… :-)**


	2. Awakening

Thanks again to my great Betas **Persephone Lupin **(original) and **lucidity **(translation)

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**Awakening**

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_Voices..._

_...distant voices.._

_the hill…_

_fighting…_

…_Voldemort_

…_Potter_

_Kingsley…_

_Minerva…_

_Albus…_

…_blood in the grass_

_Albus…_

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The voices grew clearer…

He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids seemed like lead… so heavy… so tired… pain…

"Poppy, come here! Severus has moved!"

Albus' voice…

Distant steps coming closer…

"He has moved, Albus?"

"Severus? Severus, can you hear me?"

Snape tried again to open his eyes and a blinding light intruded through the narrow gap of his slightly opened eyelids. A silent moan escaped his lips, while he flinched slightly and clenched his eyes tightly shut again.

"Shush, Severus. Slowly… Keep them closed. You have been unconscious for some while now and you eyes are not adjusted yet to the brightness."

He heard Albus mumbling a spell to dim the light of the room.

The briefly caught glimpse of the surroundings told him, that he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. Obviously he had been saved. He could distinguish the smell of various herbs and healing potions and the cool hand caressed his face tenderly… Albus' hand.

"Severus is awake? How is he?" asked a deep, full voice some distance away. Kingsley. He was alive.

Snape tried again to open his hurting eyes and slowly became accustomed to the dimmed light. His pupils focussed and recognised Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, bending over him. Albus' facial features reflected deep concern and his eyes were shimmering with moisture.

Snape's mouth felt like it was cotton-stuffed and his parched lips hurt. "Thirsty…" he tried to say, but all he managed was a feeble rasp.

Yet Madam Pomfrey seemed to have understood, as she reached for a glass of water on the nightstand. While holding up Snape's head, she raised the glass to his dry lips.

"Slowly, Severus…"

A few drops pearled down Snape's chin while he swallowed in small sips. The cool water did good, refreshing him. As his senses slowly returned, he turned his eyes and looked at Albus.

"Severus, child," said Dumbledore in a soothing voice. "It's over."

"Over..?"

"Voldemort is vanquished at last."

Those words that Snape had longed to hear for such a long time left him, he was surprised to find, relatively cold now. He tried to turn his head with the unfortunate result of feeling his dizziness and nausea rise.

"Severus, please don't move yet. You have lost a lot of blood and I had to administer some strong potions," Madam Pomfrey explained.

"How long have I been unconscious?" Snape asked in a laboured whisper.

"Five days," answered the nurse and began to dab off the beads of sweat from his face.

"Five…" breathed the sick Potions Master, furrowing his brow as a sharp stab of pain made him wince. He discovered his forehead bandaged and cast a questioning look to Madam Pomfrey.

"You have received some severe injuries, Severus, but now it's over," the nurse soothed him. "The wounds will heal."

Perhaps he was mistaken, but Snape thought he saw the glimpse of a shadow over the face of the nurse – a shadow of sad bitterness? To heal… These few minutes of awake time had already tired him and he closed his eyes again, exhausted.

"Yes, it's over now," said Dumbledore. "However, there are losses we have to bear," he added, his usually cheerful voice displaying a touch of regret.

Snape thought of Flitwick and opened his eyes again. "Filius…?" he asked, although he knew the expected answer already.

"Filius, Hagrid, Mundungus, Charlie Weasley and Tonks didn't make it… and Moody."

"Moody...?" Snape asked, not believing his ears. Alastor Moody beaten? That seemed impossible…

"It took seven Death Eaters to finally wear him down," Dumbledore answered, struggling with tears. "So many friends…" His voice faded.

"And Potter?"

The Headmaster fought back the tears. "Harry fulfilled the prophecy. Minerva and I provided him cover while he killed Voldemort. Tom Riddle was far too arrogant to recognise Harry's true powers." He nodded thoughtfully. "His arrogance was his doom."

The flash of a sneer passed over Snape's features. He always suspected that the Dark Lord would finally stumble over that unfortunate shortcoming of his.

"Where is Kingsley?" he asked, once again unsuccessfully attempting to turn his head.

"I'm here, my friend," he heard he voice of the Auror. "Wait a moment."

Snape heard the rustling of some bedclothes and the creak of an old bed. Shortly afterwards Kingsley came into his field of vision, smiling at him.

"Well, Severus…?" the tall Auror nodded towards the bedridden Potions Master. "I don't ask you how you are feeling, because first, following Poppy's instructions, you are not to speak too much now and second, I can imagine anyway," he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

Snape curled the corner of his mouth. He noticed that Kingsley's arm was in a sling.

"It's not as bad as it seems," stated the Auror. "Just a flesh wound. Poppy had some problems with the injury, though. She said it was caused by an unknown curse and she cannot close the wound magically."

Snape remembered the green flashes of light, which had unquestionably smelled of Dark Magic.

Kingsley's face grew serious. "It's going to be alright. However, your…"

"Alright," Madam Pomfrey stepped in, cutting him off. "Postpone your conversation to a later point, Severus has strained himself enough already. He needs to rest now."

As a matter of fact it was growing more and more difficult for Snape to keep his eyes open and he could hardly wrestle out another word. He could not see it, but he felt the healer rearranging his blankets and heard her taking something out of the nightstand-drawer.

"Rest now, child," said Dumbledore, while stroking Snape's cheek. The Potions Master blinked briefly to indicate that he had understood the headmaster.

Madam Pomfrey approached, bent down and touched his sweat-covered forehead. Obviously she was satisfied with his temperature, because she nodded with a slight smile. "I'm going to give you some potion for dreamless sleep, Severus. With this you should be able to sleep through the next few hours without problems."

Hours… Weeks would be more like it, given the exhaustion he currently felt, Snape thought, while the nurse again held up his head and placed a vial to his lips.

"Drink this, Severus… slowly… that's it."

Snape swallowed the potion he had brewed. What an irony, he thought, as a familiar comforting sensation spread within his body, announcing forthcoming sleep. His eyelids closed and while his consciousness slowly drifted over into the slumber, he heard some last snippets of conversation from the ward.

"_Are you out of your mind, Kingsley! What did you think you were doing?"_

"_But…"_

"_In Merlin's name, Kingsley! Severus is far too weak yet, he must not be upset now. It is far too early for him to know the true extent of his injuries…"_

The _true extent_ of his injuries?Snape hardly had time to think over this declaration from the nurse, as the relieving, dreamless sleep finally caught up with his mind…

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	3. Realisation

Thank you so much for your kind reviews, you are so nice! The answers are to be found below the chapter :)…

There are some things I'd like to emphasise first:

**§** This fic is written from Snape's POV exclusively, there will be no changing POVs.

**§** I focus mainly on selected adult characters and their social interaction with Snape – a fact that's conditional upon the former point. Snape just doesn't have so much private contact with the children, I'm afraid ;-). The children will show up in the later chapters, but I will not concentrate on them. There have been 5 (well, now it's 6) big and wonderful books written about them anyway already ;-).

**§** I apologise for the first chapters – translating them I found them somewhat "clumsy" and full of flaws (actually the entire fic is clumsy and full of flaws, hm). I hope there will be some learning process noticeable throughout this humble fic. It's still my first (longer) one, hehe ;-).

**Beta: **The great **Persephone Lupin** for the original fic and the not less wonderful **lucidity** for the translation. Thank you very much:)

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**Realisation**

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The comforting fragrances of camphor and eucalyptus played around Snapes nose, tenderly pulling him out from a long and deep slumber. No… No, he didn't want to wake. His subconscious resisted and tried insistently, yet unsuccessfully to pull back from the more and more discernible impressions of the outside world. He was so tired…

Somewhere in the distance a clock was ticking and various other noises echoed through the room. Paces… A door being closed… Soft voices… Somebody placing something onto a metal desk… The voices grew clearer…

"…_would be the best for him in his condition, Albus."_

"_I'm sorry, Poppy. I have tried everything in my power, but St. Mungo's is jam-packed. The final, desperate riots of the Death Eaters have caused so many casualties, that even the corridors and the entrance is packed with beds. Dilys Derwent spoke with all her contacts, and she had no success whatsoever either. However – I'm under the not unfounded impression that our dear Severus would not agree on a transfer to the hospital anyway…"_

"_But Albus…"_

"No, as a matter of fact, he would not," commented the Potions Master with a faint voice as he slowly opened his eyes.

"Severus!"

Snape noticed some quickly approaching paces and almost simultaneously the heads of Madam Pomfrey and Albus Dumbledore appeared in his field of vision.

"How are you feeling, child?" asked the Headmaster, while the nurse placed her hand on Snape's cheek to feel his temperature.

"Tired," Snape stated dryly.

Madam Pomfrey took out her wand and moved it slowly over the body of the ill wizard for a deeper examination. "Are you in pain, Severus?"

"A… little," said Snape hoarsely. "I feel sick…"

"That's an unfortunate side effect of the potions mix I had to administer, I'm sorry," said Madam Pomfrey. "In addition, your circulation is unsound, since you have not eaten for days now." She finished the examination and gave him a serious glance.

"It's essential that you try to eat at least a little meal today," she said sternly. "While you have been unconscious, I was forced to administer potions and nutriments intravenously, but now you are awake and your stomach should get something to work on again. That's crucial for your circulation."

Only now Snape noticed the thin tube leading up to a small plastic bag, which was hanging on a metal frame above his head. The bag was filled with a translucent, brownish liquid. A shudder passed through the Potions Master's bruised body, while he tried not to think about food.

Madam Pomfrey strode away and returned after some moments, a small bottle and a spoon in her hand.

"I am sorry, that I cannot give you anything more for the pain, Severus. The dosage from the drip is rather high and I don't want your body to get used to it too quickly." She measured some drops from the bottle onto the spoon. "However, I will give you some drops to support your circulation. It should help quench the nausea as well, so hopefully you will be able to eat a little later on."

The nurse supported Snape's head, and he obediently swallowed the bitter liquid. He really should put more emphasis on the taste of his concoctions, he thought, grimacing.

As if reading his thoughts, Dumbledore chuckled. "You of all people really should not complain, Severus. After all it's _you_ who is the Master of those liquefied cruelties." He rose and straightened his robes.

"I would love to stay with you for longer, my boy, but unfortunately I have to attend to a rather important matter at the ministry concerning the Death Eaters still on the run," he explained. "Please keep me up-to-date, Poppy, I plan to return the day after tomorrow."

Madam Pomfrey nodded in agreement. "I'll send an owl, should there be any significant change in Severus' condition. Good luck in London!"

The Headmaster squeezed Snape's shoulder gently, smiling at him encouragingly, and then left the infirmary.

"Did the effect of the medicine set in yet, Severus? Do you feel better now?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

Snape nodded. As a matter of fact, the dizziness and nausea were gone, as he discovered with relief.

"Fine," said the healer. "Because the bandages have to be changed." Smiling at her patient, she went over to the small metal cupboard where she stored the hardly ever used dressing materials.

The Slytherin noticed that he was now able to move his head without the room starting to spin around him. The sensation of an insurmountable weight pinning his body to the sick bed had diminished as well, and so he carefully lifted his head. He detected his left arm in a splint and bandages covering arm and shoulder. His right leg was propped up upon some pillows and heavily bandaged, as he observed with growing anxiety. Such Muggle techniques were downright unusual within magical medicine – a world, in which broken bones could be mended in a second didn't need splints and bandages. This was definitely not a good sign…

Snape slowly raised his hand and touched the dressing on his forehead…

"Severus, how are you feeling?"

Recognising Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice, Snape turned his head. The Auror was sitting a bed not far from him, propped up by a pillow, an open book in his lap.

Wresting a thin-lipped smile from his face, the Potions Master sighed. "Better… You?"

"Good," beamed his friend. "Poppy said, the wound is healing nicely and I'll be out of here soon."

"…_the true extent of his injuries…"_

The clause echoed through Snape's memory. Did he dream that? No, certainly not. One does not dream after taking a potion for dreamless sleep.

"Poppy…?" he asked quietly.

The healer approached, her hands full with various dressing materials.

"Yes, Severus? Do you need anything? Do you want a glass of water? I'll be with you in a minute…"

"Poppy… what… what happened to me?" Snape asked, his voice low and almost piteous. He gulped, given the concern that was slowly but steadily crawling up his intestines.

Slowly placing the dressing material on the nightstand beside the bed, Madam Pomfrey looked at him with a hint of pity in her eyes. Pity! That blasted witch should not pity him; she should tell him what the matter was! A mixture of anger and panic made his stomach clench.

"Please, Poppy," he growled, his heart pounding. "What's the matter? I am a grown-up man and generally quite comfortable with the truth… And I am not stupid," he added quietly. "I can see by myself that my situation does not seem …_trivial_."

"Oh Severus," the nurse sighed, drawing a chair closer to the bed and sitting down. Snape looked into her eyes, feeling uneasy.

"Albus and Minerva found you and Kingsley after everything was over. Kingsley told me what happened…"

Scenes of the fight on the hill formed anew in Snape's memory. Those green flashes of light; the pain… The pain, which was reduced to a dull throbbing in his shoulder and leg now.

"Severus, I am well aware that I cannot put anything past you and I don't want that anyway. You have been wounded gravely and your injuries are very serious." The nurse inhaled deeply and sighed again.

"I was shocked when Albus and Minerva brought you here. The blood loss was so great already, and I had difficulty stopping the bleeding," she said, eyes shimmering with tears. "It was so close, Severus. Not even when Kingsley brought you back from the Death Eaters, was I so in fear for your life." A single tear rolled down the witch's cheek. Trying to regain her composure, she brushed it away.

If Snape's heart would not have pounded in his throat, he would have been almost shocked by the unexpected emotion from the nurse. She, who always emitted an aura of calmness and professionalism, began to shed tears in front of his eyes? The events of the past few weeks must have gotten to her more than she would have admitted to herself…

"Forgive me, Severus," Madam Pomfrey apologised, having regained her professional tone at last.

"It was the curse, wasn't it?" the injured wizard asked softly.

"Not '_it was_'… '_it is_', Severus," Madam Pomfrey answered, sounding frustrated. "The curse is still a complete mystery, and an effective counter-curse is yet to be found. I'd love to torture these Death Eater buggers myself to find out the needed information," she added fiercely.

"Somehow this curse prevents the magical healing of the injuries – I have tried everything in my power, but it has all been fruitless. It is as if there was an impenetrable shield around the injured spots. I consulted with specialists from St. Mungo's, but they don't have any clue either. That's also the reason why St. Mungo's is so cramped – the facilities are not suited to such a huge number of long-term patients."

"_Long-term patients_?"

"Severus… I'm afraid your injuries will have to heal the conventional way. Without magic."

Over a short period of time none of them spoke a word. The revelation of the nurse cut Snape to the quick. No magic…? Blessed Paracelsus…

He sighed silently. "Just how bad is it, Poppy?" he asked hoarsely.

"Well, you received some minor and some serious injuries," Madam Pomfrey began explaining. "There is this cut on your forehead. It's deep, but I treat it with a healing salve to which you respond nicely – although I'm afraid there will be scar left."

The Potions Master snorted disdainfully. "Poppy, _please_, don't be ridiculous. I assume the risk of a scar on my face is currently a minor problem. Or am I mistaken?"

"No Severus, you are not," sighed the nurse. "The injuries on your shoulder and leg are far more severe." She inhaled deeply. "Your shoulder is broken – the left humerus, to be exact. The curse has downright penetrated the muscle and the bone. I stitched up the flesh wound manually and splinted the arm; fortunately it's a simple fracture. Which unfortunately cannot be said about your leg…" Her facial features grew even more serious. "The force of the curse was obviously so strong that it shattered your tibia and fibula. Furthermore, skin, tissue and vessels have been destroyed over a large area ...as if the curse drew a gouge of destruction." She shuddered visibly at that image.

"And… what is the meaning of this?" Snape retched out, shocked to the bone.

"I'm sorry, Severus, but that means that you should prepare for a prolonged stay here."

Snape felt like any strength had left him, his already sallow face now utterly bloodless. He tried not to think of how his leg looked under the bandages. As he had already done countless times before, he cursed his former master and his myrmidons – and for the second time today he invoked Paracelsus. Sighing deeply he turned his face away.

"Nevertheless, you are going to recover, Severus," Madam Pomfrey tried to reassure him. "I promise."

Recover – certainly… But when and particularly _how_…, Snape thought bitterly and closed his eyes.

"Severus? Severus, please look at me!"

Reluctantly he turned his head, facing the nurse.

"Severus, I promise you will heal," Madam Pomfrey insisted. "Do you understand? I _promise_." She turned around and reached for the glass of water placed on the small nightstand. "Now – drink a little and afterwards you have to eat a bit, before I change the bandages."

Snape remained silent, while the nurse slowly instilled the liquid. After the glass was emptied, Madam Pomfrey went to the fireplace to floo an order down to the kitchens. After some time a house elf appeared, bringing a light vegetable soup.

"I am not hungry," Snape growled through clenched teeth.

The healer took the chair and sat beside the sick bed, soup and spoon in her hands. "Please, don't be bull-headed now, Severus," she said in a tone that didn't tolerate objection. "You've got to eat a little." Flicking her wand, she carefully lifted the head of the bed to get her patient in a more upright position. Snape emitted a low moan at the change in posture, and then fell silent again. Without any further comment, compliantly, he let himself be spoon-fed by the nurse.

The changing of the bandages was a long and painful matter, and finally the Potions Master lay atremble and drenched in sweat. Thankfully he swallowed the potion for dreamless sleep and by the time Madam Pomfrey closed the curtains around the bed, he was already drifting over to an exhausted sleep.

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**A/N:** Since there seem to be no religious matters in canon and the name of Merlin is already quite worn to address, I chose to let Severus invoke a famous alchemist – Paracelsus. He has lived in Austria, hehe… (en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Paracelsus) 


	4. Incandescence

My sincere thanks go (as always) to my wonderful betas **Persephone Lupin** (original version) and **lucidity** (translation)!

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**Incandescence**

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Snape woke early the following morning. The exhaustion from the previous day and the sleeping potion had let him fall into a deep, dreamless and unusually long slumber long before the sunset.  
The sun was not dawning yet, and the last silvery threads of the full moon light of a clear October night pervaded the infirmary.

While listening to the quiet breathing of Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was still sleeping soundly at this early hour, Snape noticed the deep quietness that lay over the school. Not that it would have ever been particularly _noisy _in these early morning hours – still, the audible sounds had been few these past two days. No racket from gabbling students trampling through the corridors, no clamour of, the school-brooms maltreating Quidditch teams not far away on the grounds – it was just …quiet.

He could get used to that silence though, the ill Potions Master thought, sighing quietly. He made a mental note to ask the Headmaster about the scheduled start of term. At length there had to be exams and graduations this year too, and since the start of term was delayed because of the escalation of the war, the missed classes had to be caught up. Gingerly shifting his position, a pain seared through his shoulder and reminded him effectively that he would not be up to teaching anyway, regardless of when or if the students returned eventually.

Snape let his gaze wander through the dusky ward. Apparently he and Kingsley were the only patients in the infirmary of the school, which did not come as a surprise, given the fact that school had not started yet. On the other hand – why was Kingsley here of all places? Snape never wished to be treated by anyone else other then Poppy and it was no secret that he despised unacquainted healers and hospitals in particular like a vampire a sunbeam. So it was only a logical conclusion for Albus and Minerva to bring him here – he was a teacher at this school after all. Kingsley, though… It was safe to assume he was not the only Auror wounded, so why was he here at Hogwarts and not with his peers?

The gaze of the Slytherin fell upon his injured leg, which had again been gently placed upon two thick pillows after the ordeal of changing the bandages the previous day. Eventually the nurse's uncommon interest in muggle medicine – a subject within magical healers' education, which rarely ever outreached the most rudimentary basics – had come to pay off. "Butcher" he had named her sneeringly once. Who would have thought that it would be him of all people, to benefit from that eccentricity – what a sheer twist of fate…

To his left the soft sound of snoring drew the Potions Master's ear, and he turned his head towards the sleeping Kingsley. In this moment he almost felt grateful for the fact that his friend was with him. And yes, he had to admit, that Kingsley was indeed a friend – a rather new experience. He had never had any friends in his life. Musing over the voice of the Sorting Hat he had listened to nearly thirty years ago now, he snorted in disgust. "Real friends" he would make in Slytherin – the hat obviously had a rather cynical perception of friendship. People he had considered his friends had just used him for their own purposes or had become his enemies later on. The sole being besides Albus Dumbledore in whose hands he would lay his life without turning a hair, was the tall Ravenclaw, of all people, peacefully slumbering in that bed over there.

Slowly but steadily day was dawning. The first flimsy sunbeams of a clear autumn day intruded the ward, dunking it into coppery light. Snape tried not to think of his aching limbs. Madam Pomfrey had removed the needle of the drip the day before and the painkilling potion had lost most of its effect. Since even the slightest motion caused pain, he tried to withdraw his pain perception to the innermost part of his subconscious. Succeeding, he again slowly drifted away into relieving sleep.

o

* * *

o

A rumbling noise woke Snape from a weird dream, in which green flashes of light were chasing him through the school corridors down to his classroom. Cold sweat glittered on his face when his mind jerkily returned to reality. Taking deep breaths, he turned his head and identified the noise coming from Kingsley, who was being helped into a warm dressing gown by Madam Pomfrey. Seeing Snape awake, the Auror smiled.

"Good morning, Severus. Did you sleep well? How do you feel today?"

"So-so," the Slytherin forced out a hardly discernible smile. "What are you doing, Kingsley?"

"Poppy ordered me to go for a morning walk in the sunlight. Seems like she is under the impression that I'm a little pale lately," the black Auror twinkled towards the nurse.

"Alright now, off you go, Kingsley," Madam Pomfrey resolutely shooed the broadly grinning wizard to the door. "You can continue chatting a little later; I've got to look after Severus now."

Waving his bedridden friend goodbye, the Auror slipped out of the door. The nurse approached Snape's bed. "Good morning, Severus. How are you feeling? Could you sleep through the night?" she asked, now again in the considerate tone of an experienced healer.

"I woke briefly before sunrise, but there were no other special occurrences."

"Aside from the nightmare you apparently had," the nurse stated dryly, dabbing the sweat from Snape's forehead and upper lip. "Are you in pain?"

"Yes, Poppy," the ill Slytherin sighed. "Ever since I woke up." He felt miserable.

"I'll give you something for the pain after you drink some tea at least," the nurse answered and placed her hand on his forehead. "Your temperature has risen again," she said, arching an eyebrow in concern. She left the ward and came back after a short while, carrying a tray with a cup of tea and a small vial. After placing the tray onto the nightstand, she turned towards Snape again.

"You have got sit up a bit now, Severus," she said. "I'll help you."

Carefully supporting her patient's torso with her left arm, the nurse flicked her wand to slowly raise the head of the bed. Snape pressed his lips together not to groan in pain, and his hand instinctively reached for the injured shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Severus," Madam Pomfrey said sympathetically, while she rearranged the bedclothes. The Potions Master breathed heavily and then let the nurse instil the strong, black tea.

"Albus will return from London the day after tomorrow," Madam Pomfrey told him, as she uncorked the vial. "He sent an owl, telling me that he will appear in court to give testimony against the Death Eaters who fought you."

"I assume that I am excused from the summons…" Snape said sarcastically, frowning at his injured leg.

"…as well as Kingsley, yes," Madam Pomfrey stated while placing the vial to his lips. The wizard swallowed the potion and once again grimaced shuddering. He had never been aware of the abysmally vile taste of this brewage. In his head he scanned a list of possible ingredients that could improve the taste of the concoction.

However – despite the awful flavour, the potion once again proved effective. The pain in his limbs diminished a little, as Snape discovered with a sigh of relief.

While Madam Pomfrey was busy ordering a light meal for the Potions Master from the kitchen elves, the door to the ward opened and an infectiously cheerful Kingsley stuck his head in.

"Guess who I met on my stroll and certainly had to drag along right away," he said in his deep voice and with a twinkle in his eyes as he entered the room, followed by Minerva McGonagall.

"Good morning, Severus," the Gryffindor greeted her younger colleague. "I just came back from London as I ran into Kingsley."

"Minerva," Snape nodded curtly. He was glad she didn't ask him about how he was feeling, since that question increasingly got on his nerves. He would hardly admit it to himself, but he did not feel quite well – regardless of the fact that the pain killing potion most likely had reached its full grade of efficiency in the meantime.

"I was not aware of you being to London as well," Snape mentioned, somewhat surprised.

"I have been to London, yes, together with Pomona Sprout. While Albus cleared the official business at the ministry, we…" She lowered her head and sighed. "We enquired about the …now _vacant_ professorships."

Casting a glance at Kingsley, Snape noticed that his face fell with the declaration of the Gryffindor, an expression of deep dolefulness spreading over the previously light-hearted features. Apparently Kingsley hadn't known the reasons for McGonagall's trip to London either.

"Have you been successful?" Snape forced himself to ask, though not looking at his colleague.

McGonagall swallowed and strained herself into a neutral tone. "Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank will take over Hagrid's responsibilities from now on; Professor Vector is going to be the new Ravenclaw Head of House…" The voice of the usually stern witch faded, while she visibly fought back her tears. Snape's features remained unreadable, as he persevered staring at the opposite wall.

"What about Defence against the Dark Arts?" he enquired quietly. Already out of habit he had applied for the job in June and, arguably out of habit as well, the Headmaster had declined his request.

"We haven't found a suitable candidate yet," McGonagall answered. "Remus, however, had asked to think it over…"

_Oh joy_, Snape thought sarcastically, hearing the name of the werewolf. Although the animosities between him and the last existing Marauder had decreased since the death of Sirius Black, a status that could be named a "harmonious coexistence" was still far off.

"…but Albus is currently thinking on suspending the subject until an optimal solution is found," McGonagall continued. "Classes will start again in two weeks."

"But Severus cannot…" Kingsley began, after giving a glance over to his injured friend.

"Severus will not be able to teach in a month either, if I assess the situation correctly," the Gryffindor cut in on the Auror. "Isn't that right, Poppy?"

"I cannot be certain about it yet, but I would assume of a convalescence of two months at the least, given what we currently know."

The Potions Master cleared his throat softly, while his black eyes shot a venomous glance at the people debating over his sick bed. "If you would please become aware of the fact that I am still in this room as well…" His mood had lowered towards the zero-point and he felt more and more worn out.

"I am sorry, Severus," Minerva said, unusually subdued. "I know this must be a difficult time for you."

"Who is going to replace me?" Snape asked.

"Pomona will cover Potions classes in the meantime, until you are able to teach again."

A shy squeak interrupted the discussion, right before the Potions Master could fire out a biting remark about the in his opinion, insufficient qualifications of the herb-witch. A house-elf was standing on the doorsteps, holding up a tray of food.

"Oh! Thank you, Winky." Madam Pomfrey hurried over to receive the tablet.

"I have got to leave you now anyway, there is a pile of work still waiting to be done," McGonagall sighed. "If I get any news, I'll let you know," she said, while turning towards the door. "Please keep me informed about Severus' condition, Poppy. I hope you get better soon, Severus!"

With that, she nodded a curt good-bye and swept out of the ward.

"I think, I will go to bed again," yawned Kingsley, while marching over to his bed. "Don't worry about my lunch, Poppy; I already paid a visit to my old friends in the kitchens." He winked at Snape, as he climbed back into the bed. "It's always beneficial to stay on good terms with the kitchen-elves."

Snape suppressed a moan. He really was not in the mood for Kingsley's jokes now. Despite of the potion the nurse had administered, his leg had started hurting again in dull throbs, which radiated all over the right side of his body. He felt sick and miserable.

Madam Pomfrey put the tablet on the nightstand, surveying the ill wizard with a worried glance, and then placed a hand on his forehead.

"Severus! You are literally burning up!"

The Slytherin sighed softly, curling his lip in pain. This witch did not reveal any secret he did not already know.

The nurse drew out her wand and moved it slowly over Snape's body, pressing her lips together in deep concentration. "That's strange…" she mumbled. "The wound on your forehead and the fracture of the arm have started to heal. But your leg…"

"Yes..?" Snape asked quietly, sounding alarmed.

"It seems like the injury is not healing," Madam Pomfrey answered slowly. "Like if it…" Moving her wand over the leg, she frowned. "…like if the wound is all inflamed."

Snape stared at the nurse, burgeoning panic glinting in his eyes. "What does that mean?"

The corner of Madam Pomfrey's mouth twitched, as if deliberating about something to come to a final decision. "This means that I have to remove the bandages forcloser examination of the wound," she answered and directed her paces towards the cupboard, where she stored dressings and other utensils.

The ill wizard breathed hard and closed his eyes, while the meal on the bedside table slowly turned cold.

o

ooo

o


	5. Shadows

_Welcome to Melodrama Extraordinaire, Part 1!_

Thanks a lot again to **Persephone Lupin** and **lucidity**, my wonderful betas!

* * *

o

**Shadows**

o

She took her time, Madam Pomfrey, to remove all the bandages manually since she did not dare to use magic on the already intricate curse-wound. Snape's eyes were filled with tears of agony; his breath came laboured and rattling between sporadic, low moans. Kingsley, who had eyed him through the whole procedure with growing concern, finally came over to sit beside the bed. He took up a piece of cloth to dab off the beads of sweat, which trickled into his friend's tightly shut eyes.

After the ordeal was finally over, the healer started to examine the wounds, and what she discovered made her inhale sharply.

"Poppy…?" Kingsley asked anxiously, while he carried on dabbing the face of the feverish Slytherin.

His gaze fell on Snape's injured leg, and he jerked back, aghast at the sight. The wound seemed to be severely inflamed, making the surrounding parts of the lower leg deeply red.

"The infection seems to have been caused by the after-effects of the curse," Madam Pomfrey said with a frown on her face. She flicked her wand to do a cooling spell, which gave her patient some relief.

"I'll be right back," she then stated curtly, hurrying off and leaving the ward. The whoosh of a magical fire became audible from the adjoining room, as well as the resolute voice of the nurse.

"_St. Mungo's Hospital – Department of Spell Damage!"_

This was followed by some murmured snatches of conversation, and after some moments Madam Pomfrey returned to the ward, deep concern furrowing her brow.

"And…?" asked Kingsley. "Could you get answers?"

The nurse took a deep breath. "Nothing concrete, unfortunately. There have been similar cases at St. Mungo's, most of them in correlation with a sudden high fever and an inflammation of the curse-wound; whereas the severity of the symptoms varied with each case. The specialists there speculate about the fact that the curse had not been properly developed yet. Also, it seems to be dependent on the individual magical power of the caster."

Kingsley threw a concerned glance towards Snape, who lay with eyes closed, his breathing laboured and face pale as death. "What would be the worst we could expect?" he asked in a low voice.

Madam Pomfrey surveyed her patient with a worried look. "My colleague at the hospital spoke about some cases of atypical traumatic fevers in combination with a septic shock." Head downcast, she cleared her throat. "Two patients have died from the after-effects of the curse already," she added quietly.

"What about a counter-curse?"

The healer shook her head in frustration. "Not found yet. That curse is still a complete mystery, and the only people who actually know something about it are either dead or on their way to the Dementors. And since they seem to be doomed in any case, they will certainly refrain from cooperating in any way," she added, frowning.

"Severus, I'm going to give you a potion to reduce the pain and the fever, and then dress your leg," she said to the Potions Master, whose fever bouts had intensified to the point that his body was shaking with ague. Like an echo through a thick mist, the nurse's voice reached his ear.

Almost automatically Snape swallowed the potion placed to his lips. He had difficulty keeping his eyes open, while the room around him started to spin. Feeling commencing panic, he tried desperately not to faint. The bandage on his forehead was drenched with sweat and strands of long black hair stuck to his cheeks. Shivering violently, his gasps for air became irregular.

"Poppy…" he pressed out, his voice abnormally high-pitched from angst.

While another tremor passed through his body, his eyelids began to flutter…

It was so cold…

-

"_Severus…"_

"…_potion… fever doesn't drop…"_

_-_

"_Severus…"_

_-_

"Severus! Severus, stay with us!"

A hand touched his cheek.

"Severus, don't pass out now! Open your eyes!"

The eyelids were so heavy…

The voice of the nurse slipped into distance and faded in darkness…

-

-

-

-

_A clearing…_

_Cold wind…_

_-_

"_No… please, don't!"… pleading eyes… "Please, let me go!"_

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

_-_

_-  
_

"_Receive now the Dark Mark, your bond to me, your master, from now on…."_

"_Morsmordre!"_

_-  
_

_Green flashes…_

_Pain…_

_-  
_

"_Crucio!"_

_Damp forest soil…_

_-_

_It was so cold…_

_-_

_-  
_

"_Stand up, Severus…"_

"_I cannot forgive you for what you have done. Yet I can grant you a second chance…"_

_-_

_-_

"_Severusss…"_

_-_

"_You betrayed me, Severus… betrayed my trust…"_

"_My Lord, I…"_

"_I cherished a true viper in my bosom, Severusss…"_

_-_

"_You disappointed me and my loyal Death Eaters greatly, Severus… CRUCIO!"_

_Pain…_

_-_

_Agony…_

_Screams…_

_-_

_-_

_Screaming…!_

_-_

"_Severus!" _

_A touch on his shoulder…_

_-_

"Severus…! Wake up, Severus!"

"Kingsley…?" Trembling lips formed the name of the friend.

"Sshh, Severus, do wake up," he heard the deep and comforting voice of the Auror. "You had a bad dream. It's alright now."

Snape felt a tear sneak through his tightly shut eyelids, tracing down his cheek.

"The Dark Lord…" he whispered.

"…is gone, Severus," Kingsley soothed, while brushing away the solitary tear. With great effort the ill wizard opened his eyes, and looked into the friendly but deeply concerned face of the Auror. It was dark and Kingsley's facial features were illuminated only by a weak night light.

"You are at Hogwarts, Severus," the Ravenclaw read the unasked question in Snape's eyes. He straightened the blankets and dried the feverish wizard's forehead and cheeks. Snape drew some deep breaths, while his orientation slowly returned. Another tear escaped the corner of his eye, and made him curse himself for not being able to save face, as well as from the leaden heaviness of his pathetic body, which did not allow him to get rid of that sign of weakness before his friend did it for him.

"Kingsley…" he breathed nearly inaudible. "What's wrong with me?"

"You have a high fever, Severus," Kingsley answered. "It's caused by an infection from the after-effects of the curse." He furrowed his brow. "I'd like to give you something for a dreamless sleep, but Poppy said it doesn't go along with the anti-inflammatory potion from the drip-feeding."

Snape sighed quietly and closed his eyes – fully aware of the fact that he could not escape the bizarre nightmares, which carried on, washing over him like breaking waves.

-

_It's so cold here…_

_-_

_-_

"_Slytherin! You have been sorted into …SLYTHERIN!"_

_The voice of the father dripped with disgust, while the mother eyed him bewilderedly. _

"_Slytherin, that is correct," he heard himself retort defiantly. "It would seem that the Sorting Hat approved of my talents, unlike you …Gryffindors."_

_-_

_-_

_Derisive laughter…_

"_Look at him, that pathetic git cannot even ride a broom. Should we hold it for you…?"_

"_Cack-handed, slimy Slytherin!"_

_-_

"_Snivellus…!"_

_-_

_-_

"_My name is Severus Snape, my Lord."_

_Piercing, cold eyes… it was so cold…_

_-_

_It is so cold…_

_-_

"_Be a loyal instrument for my sake and you will be rewarded. Fail – and you will live to rue it."_

_-_

"_It would seem that our young apprentice is not yet ready to handle that little matter to his master's satisfaction."_

_A cruel, disdainful laughter…_

_Pleading eyes… eyes full of mortal fear… _

_-_

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

_-  
_

_Glistening green flashes of light…_

_-_

"_The traitor!" …the shrill laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange…_

_-_

_-_

"_Crucio!"_

_-_

_A moan… a pitiful, pathetic moan…_

_-_

_The healer's voice through the mist…_

"_Severus…"_

_-_

"…_change the dressings…" _

_He flinched… pain…!_

_-_

"_Crucio!"_

_-_

"_Calm down, Severus… Sshh…"_

_A hand gently touched his forehead… caressed his face…_

_-_

_It's so cold…_

_Cold, skeletal fingers…_

_-_

"_MORSMORDRE!"_

_-_

_No… no…_

"_No! Don't…!"_

_It was a mistake... a mistake he must not make… a mistake which he knew would be the gravest of his life…_

_-  
_

"N..no…"

A sharp pain in his head made him flinch. He felt a cool cloth being placed on his forehead.

"Sshh, Severus…"

The voice of the nurse had not been a dream. He was not in that clearing in the Scottish highlands, that clearing, which had become the place of the most crucial mistake of his life.

"Poppy…" he breathed.

"Calm down, Severus… I have got to change the wet dressings."

A hand slipped gingerly under his head, lifting it carefully. Soft bandages touched his fever-hot forehead.

"Forgive me…" he whimpered faintly.

-

-

_Forgiveness…_

_-_

_There are spots that don't come off... Spots that never come off…_

_-_

"_Severus…"_

"_You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… If you are prepared…"_

"_I am."_

_-  
_

"_CRUCIO!"_

_-_

"_Albus!"_

_-_

"_Forgive me…"_

"_I cannot forgive you for what you have done. Yet I can grant you a second chance…"_

"_I will not disappoint you, headmaster. Thank you..."_

_-_

_-_

_Albus…_

_-_

_Mercy…_

_Pain…_

_-_

_Panic…_

_-_

_Panic tightened his throat; threatened to suffocate him… He couldn't breathe…_

_-  
_

_Distant voices…_

_-_

"_Poppy, what happened?"_

"_It's sepsis… the curse…"_

_-_

_Breathe…_

_-_

_I don't want to die…_

_Darkness…_

_Pain…_

_-_

_I don't want to die…_

_-_

"I don't want to die…"

A cool hand took his and clasped it gently.

"No, Severus, you are not going to die."

Albus. Albus was here.

Pulling all his strength together, Snape opened his eyes and looked into the blue eyes of the Headmaster. Dumbledore surveyed him with a serious glance, and then moved the corners of his mouth upwards to an encouraging smile. "No, you are not going to die, Severus," he repeated. "You'll live and recover." He squeezed the feverish Potions Master's hand gently and brushed a drenched lock from the torrid brow.

"Kingsley…?" Snape whispered.

"He is asleep now, Severus," the Headmaster answered. "He watched over you the last two nights and Poppy ordered him to rest now."

"Two nights…?" The voice of the wizard faded away, leaving his words reduced to some weak movements of his lips.

"You are suffering from severe traumatic fever, Severus," Dumbledore explained, caressing Snape's damp, cavernous cheek. "Poppy is doing everything in her power to reduce the fever."

"I am so cold…" the ill wizard whimpered helplessly, while his leaden eyelids fluttered.

"It's the fever, poor child," said the Headmaster sympathetically and wrapped the blanket around the trembling body tightly.

Madam Pomfrey moved her wand over Snape's body. "I still cannot isolate the source of infection, Albus," she said in a low voice, while another shiver passed through her patient's body and made him moan softly.

"Albus, we have run out of options…" she urged the Headmaster, as if wanting to push him to a decision.

Dumbledore's face grew serious; he lowered his gaze and sighed. After some moments he looked at the healer, nodding nearly indiscernibly. "If there is no other way…" he sighed with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"I don't see any, Albus. And time is running out," Madam Pomfrey repeated, while worriedly surveying the bedridden wizard, who could barely keep his eyes open now.

Snape hardly registered the hand of the nurse lifting his head to administer another potion, before he finally fainted into darkness.

"_Forgive me, Severus…"_

o

ooo

o

* * *

**A/N:** I am well aware of the fact that this story is rather predictable – sorry about that! So you all know what will happen, certainly. Erm… (looks out for shrubbery to hide) 

Just a few words: I have been influenced on this chapter by the play "Professor Bernhardi" by Arthur Schnitzler (the idea of the sepsis came from there, although that is not at all important in said play itself) and the book "Winnetou" by Karl May, in which the protagonist suffers from severe traumatic fever. And some of the scenes in the fever delirium are taken from a not translated one-shot of mine.


	6. Dawning

You have all read the A/N at the beginning of the prologue, haven't you? So you all know of the OOC-warning, yes? I allow myself to portrait 'my' Severus as rather …_human_. You have been warned… ;)

My sincere thanks go (as always) to **Persephone Lupin** and **lucidity** for beta and their priceless encouragement!

I produced a humble illustration that goes along with this chapter – if you are interested, it can be found under **www**_dot_**xiaogui**_dot_**tk** or on my gallery at deviantArt: **xiaogui**_dot_**deviantart**_dot_**com**.

Furthermore, I feel very flattered that **Einheitstochter**, one of my very favourite fanart-artists got inspired by this fic to paint a picture for me – please have a look at her brilliant and very unusual works at **einheitstochter**_dot_**deviantart**_dot_**com**:)

Ok… _Melodrama Extraordinaire continues with Part 2… _(runs and hides behind shrubbery)

* * *

o

**Dawning**

o

_Eucalyptus… Lavender… Rosewood…_

The well-known, comforting fragrances of the herbs and essential oils slowly pervaded the ill Slytherin's consciousness, gently lifting it up to the surface of reality. It felt like the first invigorating draw of breath after coming up from the deep of the ocean; like a fresh spring-breeze after a long day in the potions vapours of the humid school-dungeons.

Snape's mind associated the aromatic odours with the hospital wing, and almost with pleasure his nose inhaled the flavoursome scents that cleared his senses. His memory once again returned to the dark places of his past, the existence of which his subconscious had tried to suppress already for so long. The life behind the mask – was it really that long ago? Had he finally expiated for his acts and mistakes? No, he thought bitterly, there is no expiation for murder. And murdered he had – human life erased under the shadow of a skull, floating on the night sky.

Tenderly, he tried to shift, only to realise the impossibility of moving his weary body, which lay heavy in the soft cushions of the sick bed. His leg hurt… and his head… How long had he slept? He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were heavy and puffy. A sharp pain under his skullcap made him hiss involuntarily. Furrowing his brow, he tried to remember what had happened. Like apparitions in his mind, he remembered a concerned Madam Pomfrey. The curse… and some obscure silhouettes in the mist. Kingsley... Albus… The constant pounding in this leg and skull made him moan quietly. The Dark Lord… Forgiveness…

Catching the sound of low voices, he sighed softly. He thanked Paracelsus for those insurmountable shadows of the past being just a dream. Paces became audible; somebody came close and reached for his hand. The Potions Master tried to open his weary eyes, once again without success.

"Severus…?" he heard the deep voice of Kingsley.

Snape opened his mouth, but no sound made it over his parched lips. Instead, he managed a weak squeeze of the hand that was lying in his.

"Thank Merlin…" the Auror breathed a sigh of relief.

"Severus…" he heard Madam Pomfrey say. "Don't try to speak yet. You suffered from traumatic fever for quite some days and must not strain yourself." The voice of the healer displayed relief as well.

The ill wizard felt a cool, damp cloth gently wipe over his face and eyes, cooling and comforting him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked into the faces of Kingsley and Madam Pomfrey, bending over him.

"Would you like some water?" the nurse asked, reaching for the glass on the nightstand.

While Madam Pomfrey instilled the cool liquid, Snape slowly felt his vigour return.

"You look much better now, my friend," Kingsley said, an encouraging smile on his lips. "We have been very worried about you."

Snape noticed that Kingsley wore his usual dark robe again. Apparently he was better, although he still carried his arm in a sling.

"Are you in pain?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

"Headache…" the ill wizard breathed, nearly inaudible.

"Yes, I expected that, Severus," the nurse answered. "The last days have been very straining for your body; a headache was to be expected." She fumbled at the infusion, which dangled above Snape's head. "I will set the dosage on a bit higher level. That should ease the headache."

"My leg…" he mouthed, his brow furrowing in pain.

Meeting the gaze of the healer, he noticed an unreadable expression on her face. A puzzled look dawning on his features, he opened his mouth. While he cleared his throat and started moving his lips, he recognised the expression as sorrow. Sorrow…?

"What's… the matter?" he finally managed to say, his voice a hoarse rasp.

Madam Pomfrey and Kingsley exchanged a meaningful glance, and the nurse was evidently struggling for words. Yet she didn't answer.

Snape felt the grip of Kingsley's hand tighten slightly – as if the Ravenclaw had braced his posture out of unconscious reflex. He became more and more anxious; his gaze broke away from the healer's eyes and started to search the room. Something was wrong here, as a voice told him in the back of his mind.

And then he saw it. Or more precise – what was left of it. His eyes widened in disbelief, staring at the heavily bandaged stump, which protruded from under the duvet, supported by a pillow.

"Wh..what..?" he exhaled quietly.

Snape's brain refused to process the information sent by his sense of sight. No. No, that couldn't be. It was not …_correct_. Seeking for help his eyes shifted towards Kingsley, whose eyes were shimmering with moisture. The Auror swallowed and lowered his gaze.

"Severus, I…" Madam Pomfrey began hesitantly.

As if in slow motion Snape turned his head and looked at the healer, but his pupils did not focus. Abruptly, the catenations in his brain formed, causing growing dizziness. Like from a far distance he heard Madam Pomfrey's voice, while his vision blurred.

"…_so sorry… please forgive… only option…"_

His leg… it was gone… gone… Slowly he shook his head, stunned to the bone.

"…_to save your life, Severus."_

Obsidian eyes locked with hazel ones, making the healer freeze.

"Poppy…" the Slytherin whispered, still shaking his head in disbelief. "You chopped off my leg."

"Severus…" the healer tried another attempt to explain. "It was the only option left. The after-effects of the curse had somehow infected the wound and that infection had started to radiate over your whole organism…"

"You were on the brink of death, Severus," Kingsley said, still holding on to his friend's hand.

"But… it _hurts_…"

"That's phantom pain, Severus," Madam Pomfrey stated, compassion written all over her face.

"And …now?" Snape whispered as if in trance

"After the amputation the fever dropped almost instantly, and now you have just a bit high temperature – at the most. After the removal of the source of infection, the specific after-effects of the curse apparently were gone as well," the nurse explained and lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry, Severus…" she added quietly.

"You promised…" the Slytherin said with a trembling voice, his eyes blinking unfocussed. "You _promised_ that I will recover…"

The healer's eyes shimmered with moisture. "Severus… I'm so sorry. It was the only chance."

The ill Potions Master turned his head away and stared at the wall. The word 'cripple' sneaked into his thoughts. A quiet voice in his mind reminded him that losing a leg was arguably preferable to losing the life – nevertheless, his eyes started to fill with tears.

"Severus…" he heard Kingsley say.

"Leave me in peace…" came the choked retort. The low voice of reason finally became superposed by despair. He was going to drag out his pathetic existence as a _cripple_! Just as his eyes began to overflow, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He didn't want to look at Kingsley. Not now. He wanted to be alone, left alone in his misery. His shoulder flinched weakly; tried in vain to shake off the unwanted touch.

"Severus, please…" the Auror insisted. "It's not the end of the world. You will recover and certainly be able to live an almost normal life."

The Potions Master eventually turned his head and looked at Kingsley and Madam Pomfrey. "Is there any chance…" he began quietly, but the downcast head of the healer made his hopes die as fast as they had burgeoned.

"Even magical healing has its limits," she said, shaking her head sadly.

Snape thought of Moody. "What about a …_substitution_?" he whispered, defeated. The thought of words like 'prosthesis' or 'wooden leg' made him cringe inwardly in disgust. It was not long ago that he had sneered at the cranky old Auror.

"Well…" Madam Pomfrey said cautiously. "The acute infection had already spread out over the knee." She took a deep breath, as if she wanted to brace herself. "I couldn't save the knee joint, Severus. This means that the attachment of an artificial limb could prove rather difficult. There are some highly sophisticated Muggle variants, true, but the sensors and microprocessors therein…"

…render them useless in a magical environment like Hogwarts, the Slytherin continued in his thoughts, sighing bitterly. A disabled veteran like out of the textbook, at last… Crestfallen, he closed his eyes, the headache hammering under his skullcap.

The sound of a door being opened announced the arrival of yet another visitor, but Snape kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to see anyone, why couldn't they just leave him alone… The battle against the insistent tears became more and more difficult and he drew deep breaths while his chin began to tremble suspiciously. Kingsley still held on to his friend's hand. Once again, the Slytherin tried weakly to shake off the hand on his shoulder. Damn it, he thought, go away! Pulling all his strength together he managed a flinch of his shoulder to finally get rid of Kingsley's hands.

"How is Severus?" Snape heard the concerned voice of the Headmaster.

"He is awake," answered Madam Pomfrey quietly. "He is as well as could be expected."

Snape heard Dumbledore's paces drawing closer in his direction. Apparently Kingsley had yielded the chair to the Headmaster, who sat down beside the sick bed. The Potions Master kept his eyes tightly shut, desperately trying to fight back the tears, which carried on conglomerating insistently behind his clenched eyelids. He felt Albus' hand gently stroking over his head while a single tear pushed past black eyelashes to trickle down his cheek. A quiet sob escaped his lips; he opened his eyes and looked at the Headmaster, who was eying him with a sympathetic glance.

"I'm so sorry, child," he said quietly, and then bent down to gather the desperate wizard in his arms. The battle was lost, at last. The Slytherin pressed his head on the older man's chest, burying his face in the folds of the robe, his body finally convulsing in bitter sobs.

The old wizard held him tight and caressed gentle strokes over his damp hair, as Snape shed tears of despondence and despair. Although he leaned in the consoling embrace, he felt shame over his weakness. Only once in his adult life he had cried before another man – and that man had been Albus Dumbledore. It had been the night when he finally ate humble pie, crawling his way back into the light, back then, as a disenchanted Death Eater. In the dirt by the feet of the Hogwarts Headmaster and most powerful wizard of present times he had whimpered for forgiveness. It had not been forgiveness that could be granted, yet a second chance to atone for his acts and redeem him. Could this be the final expiation, the last punishment for his regrettable past…?

Eventually the tears had run dry. After freeing himself from the embrace, the exhausted Potions Master let himself be carefully reclined on the pillows by the Headmaster. His head pounded and he closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Knowing of all these pity-dripping eyes resting on him, he felt a slight blush arise on his face. He hated himself for his weakness.

A quiet clearing of the throat by Madam Pomfrey broke through the silence. "Severus…" she said. "You have got to rest a bit now to give the healing potions time to take effect."

Snape opened his eyes and watched wordlessly, as the healer approached and then fumbled at his right elbow, where she had placed the needle of the drip.

"The fracture of your upper arm is healing nicely, and I removed the bandage on your forehead as well," she explained, while she changed the bag of the drip and checked on the tube. "Unfortunately a scar will remain," she added in a regretful tone.

The Slytherin pressed his lips together and curled the corner of his mouth in bitterness, suppressing a sardonic laugh. Why, by the name of Merlin, would he be interested in a scar on his brow now! He glanced at the no longer existing limb, swallowing hard on the lump which was building anew in his throat.

Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and stood, pulling Snape out of his thoughts.

"I will come back later to look in on you, Severus," he said, an encouraging smile on his lips. "Now you have to rest a bit to regain some strength after these draining last days."

"Kingsley," he addressed the Auror. "Please come with me to my office, I would like to discuss something with you."

The Ravenclaw nodded curtly and then smiled at Snape. "Take a rest now, my friend. I'll drop by later."

They left the ward, leaving the Potions Master and Madam Pomfrey alone. The healer had obviously decided not to bother Snape even more with further talking, and attended the necessary works in professional silence. Her patient tried to withdraw his mind from his surroundings back into the depths of his consciousness – which proved less difficult than expected, given the utter exhaustion of his body. However, whenever his gaze met the nurses', he recognised the pity in her eyes. Only the deep and overwhelming sensation of discomfiture crawling up on him, as Madam Pomfrey attended to his most private matters retained him from snarling at her. Deep in his mind he knew of his irrationality and injustice towards the healer who had saved his life; yet his emotions betrayed him and kept dancing at the precipice. Peripherally, he observed that the changing of the dressings on his shoulder caused less pain than before and wondered whether that fact was due to the healing process or – more likely – a result of the immense dose of painkilling potions, which Madam Pomfrey undoubtedly had pumped into his system. Also, the headache was gone, as he noticed after a while.

Eventually, the healer turned to the stump and started to cautiously remove the bandages. Wordlessly, Snape surveyed her working while trying to keep control of his emotions. However – when Madam Pomfrey had finally removed the last gauze pad, opening the sight on the bare end halfway down his upper leg, yet another battle was lost. Chin and lips started trembling and tears found their path down his cheeks. The nurse, who had been watching him through the whole process out of the corners of her eyes, looked up and reached out for a handkerchief. Bending over him, she got ready to wipe away the tears.

A hoarse "No…" made her motions freeze. The Potions Master finally had enough – enough of exposing himself in weakness. That did it. Under utmost exertion he lifted his arm, each accomplished centimetre weighing a ton. His joints ached, after being immobile over long days of illness. Good, he thought, pain distracts from emotions. Finally, he managed to bring the shaking hand up to his face and wiped away the tears in an unstable move. While he slowly let his arm sink back on the bed, he blinked at Madam Pomfrey.

"Why, Poppy…?" he asked helplessly, addressing his fate rather than the nurse. "Why?"

Madam Pomfrey obviously recognised the rhetorical nature of the question, since she just lowered her gaze, sighing quietly.

While she attended to the stump with a healing salve and finally bandaged it again, the Potions Master kept his lips pressed together and his eyes tightly shut. He tried to move his consciousness away from the healer's fingers on the sensitive wound as far as possible. His senses retreated and returned only as he heard a noise coming from the nightstand beside the bed. Madam Pomfrey measured a couple of drops from a small vial onto a spoon, which she placed to his lips.

"Don't worry," she said, as Snape swallowed the medicine rather reluctantly. "It's just a light sedative. That was all a bit much for you to digest today, I know, Severus. I want you to sleep now to give your body a chance to recover and heal. And I'm afraid, you will not be able to do so – after all that has happened today," she added, while pulling the duvet up over his chest.

Snape sighed quietly, knowing that the healer was right.

"After you wake up again, I will give you something to eat. But now you should calm down and sleep a little."

While she examined him one last time, the ill Potions Master felt his spinning thoughts finally become subdued by exhaustion and fatigue, and slowly he closed his eyes.

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Some credits: The idea of Severus being able to close his mind to his (unpleasant) surroundings comes from the great fic "Of Killers and Traitors" by lilith11. Although Lilith used that in other circumstances, the idea itself was not mine originally. 

I hope you were not too disappointed by the melodrama in this chapter. The next 2 chapters will be more tranquil ones with a lot of Kingsley-Severus-interaction and a little flashback on how these two found each other. And Sev's going to regain a little bit of his former self. :)


	7. Autumn 1

This chapter is the first of two parts, because it grew a bit too long. So I decided to divide it in two parts.

My sincere thanks go to my wonderful betas, as always: **Persephone Lupin** for wrestling with my original and **lucidity** for losing a lot of hairs over my rather adventurous translation. I would be lost without you!

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**Autumn 1**

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„You are _what_?"

Not believing his ears, Snape stared at Kingsley. The Auror grinned at him, obviously happy to finally drag the Potions Master out of the grim lethargy he had vegetated in all morning.

"Albus believes that since I am an Auror, I should be capable of keeping a class of studiously students in check," Kingsley explained, smiling impishly while his fingers picked at Snape's duvet.

_Studious students_, really, the Slytherin thought. Nerve-wracking brats, whose ever-distracted skulls where anywhere, _except_ at the tasks assigned to them, would apparently fit better. He stifled an acerbic remark – his friend would find this out soon enough. So Kingsley was the new teacher for Charms then. Interesting…

"Albus was obviously looking for a Ravenclaw to replace Filius and since I am available at the moment, the solution seemed fitting." He lowered his head when mentioning the name of his former Head of House. It was clear to Snape that Flitwick's demise affected his friend deeply, even if Kingsley tried to hide that fact behind his jovial façade. Well, they hadn't had time to mourn their losses yet, he thought gloomily, while surveying the black Auror's sorrowful features.

"Kingsley," Snape stated dryly. "Didn't you have a job?"

Pulled out of his thoughts, the Auror lifted his head. "Oh! Well… I got myself released from work," he said noncommittally. "You-Kn… Voldemort is no more, and since most of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban already or at least waiting for their trial, the ministry can spare my services for the time being."

Surveying his friend thoughtfully, Snape pressed his lips together. He had certain suspicions about the true reason behind Kingsley's prolonged stay at Hogwarts. And as much as he detested being patronised or dependent on other people, he was not unhappy at the further prospect of having the Auror by his side.

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The day had begun exactly how the prior one had ended – dismally. The previous evening Madam Pomfrey had provided the Potions Master with a light supper and then gave him another dose of dreamless sleep, from which he had awakened in the very early morning hours. Eventually, autumn had arrived and the dull, rain cloud-loaded sky reflected Snape's general frame of mind only too well. Kingsley had finally left the hospital ward and moved into one of the professor's flats, and so Snape was left alone with his gloomy thoughts to kill the seemingly long hours until the crack of dawn. His injuries ached under the dressings and he felt thoroughly sore. One time he tried to shift his position, only to be rewarded with nausea due to the galling sensation he experienced when he realised how awkward it felt to move the stump of his leg. This once again painful realisation, that from now on ten kilogram of his body were just _gone_, again brought tears to his eyes – leaving him grateful to be alone, so nobody could see his renewed weakness. However, just a few moments later he would have given all his most treasured potions encyclopaedias just to lure Madam Pomfrey and her painkilling draughts to him. Being an experienced Occlumens, he finally resorted to drawing his consciousness back into the depths of his mind, awaiting the morning return of the healer in semi-somnolent doze.

The fact that Madam Pomfrey removed the infusion-needle and instilled some potions along with a clear soup for breakfast didn't bother Snape to come out of his phlegmatic doze, and not until Kingsley arrived did he resurface from his withdrawn consciousness.

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Snape surveyed the Ravenclaw, who was sitting beside the bed, lost in thought and staring into space. Actually, their acquaintance had begun just so, beside a sickbed, almost two years ago now – what irony… He snorted quietly and curled a lip.

"A Knut for your thoughts, Severus…" winked the Auror.

"I've just realised we've come full circle."

Kingsley smiled. "And I was just reminded that I want to break you of the habit of talking in cryptic riddles."

"Hm. There will be flying flubberworms first, I assume."

"I'm a patient man, Severus," the Auror chuckled and helped the ill wizard take a sip of tea. "So, what were you just thinking?"

"Of the incident at the Department of Mysteries. And of the time afterwards."

"You're talking about St. Mungo's?" Kingsley asked, his expression serious. "Perhaps you won't believe it, but you actually helped me a lot back then."

"Exactly…" mumbled Snape and lowered his gaze.

Interesting, how everything seemed to repeat itself in reverse, the Slytherin thought. Seemingly on a whim, Dumbledore had sent him to the hospital to look in on Kingsley, after he had been injured by Bellatrix Lestrange. At first he had thought that the headmaster just selected him because Snape had been the only _dispensable_ Order member at that time. But then, after a couple of visits and long conversations in the hospital ward, Snape realised the apparently different intent of Dumbledore's decision.

Pushing one of those damn lemon drops from one cheek to the other, the head of the Order had surveyed him over his half-moon spectacles.

"_Severus,"_ he had said, and his calm voice was still ringing in Snape's ears as if it had been yesterday. _"Kingsley is in hospital and he is not well. And since the holidays have begun, and you are the only order member available for the time being, I would like you to look in on him." _

"_Shall I bring flowers, perhaps? Or hold his hand?"_ he had sneered, annoyed over the fact that Dumbledore dared to intrude on his precious holidays. As if the expectation of the next Death Eater summons would not have been unnerving enough!

And yet he went. Like he always went on the Headmaster's assignments. After he had grazed the happily waving flower seller in the lobby with a glare that must had paralysed her for a week, he had glided up to the fourth floor, determined to keep his sojourn in this disinfecting potions-dripping atmosphere to an absolute minimum.

In the end, that _minimum_ stretched out over four hours, and at the time when the nurse finally entered the ward to notify the Potions Master about the end of visiting hours, the both of them were engaged in a lively discussion over the ministry's Muggle politics. And that forced visit to St. Mungo's had not been his last, no, from now on he even marked his calendar and overcame his aversion to hospitals in general and the uncomfortable sensations the atmosphere there caused for him. He was no altruistic man and the happiness of convalescent Kingsley over his regular visits had been concomitant at the most – however, he enjoyed availing himself of the Auror's company.

Had the wise old headmaster foreseen Kingsley as the one person missing in the cranky Potions Master's life? A peer to exchange thoughts, to confide in…?

Similar to him, Kingsley was most erudite, competent in various domains, and where he was no expert he was at least interested in closing the gaps in his knowledge. Adding to that was the fact that the good-natured Auror accepted him as he was and – even more important – knew when to shut his mouth when Snape had one of his more than sporadic ill tempers. Dumbledore's disguised plan seemed to have worked out at last – there might even be a bit of a Slytherin slumbering inside the old wizard…

"Severus…"

"Hm?" Pulled out of his musings, Snape looked up.

"Stop brooding," Kingsley smiled. "Look, even the clouds are disappearing." He pointed at the window, through which some flimsy sunbeams reluctantly permeated the ward.

The Slytherin frowned. "Fantastic," he mumbled dryly and lowered his gaze on to his right hand, the thumbnail of which forcefully tried to bore into the tip of the forefinger.

"Poppy had a really good idea this morning," the Auror told him, while watching his friend closely. "As soon as the weather is better, I'm allowed to take you out."

Snape looked at him, arching a bewildered eyebrow. "Which means…?"

"She said that some fresh air and a change of surroundings would do you good, and I agree. We are going to take a little afternoon-walk on the grounds later."

The ill wizard sighed bitterly. "Spare your jokes, Kingsley. I'm really not in the mood." He lowered his gaze. "How could I…"

"Severus," the Auror interrupted him sternly. "It was no joke. Do you honestly believe you're going to spend the rest of your life in this bed?"

"Hm. No," was the low answer. Certainly he won't, he was well aware of that. Nevertheless, he also knew that he won't ever again be able to walk as he once did. And this bodily _shortcoming_ increasingly gnawed on his self-esteem, the longer he brooded over it.

"Come now, Severus. Some distraction will do you good, I'm sure. A breath of fresh air and some sunshine will positively lighten up your thoughts."

_Sunshine_, certainly, that was definitely what he needed now of all things, the Slytherin thought gloomily.

"Furthermore," Kingsley added. "It won't be long until the students return, and I assume you'd like to enjoy the autumn garden while it's still tranquil."

"And apart from all this, It's an order in my function as your healer, Severus. Plain and simple, whether you like it or not." The resolute voice of Madam Pomfrey caused both men to look up. The nurse had entered the ward and approached with quick paces.

"How do you feel, Severus?" Placing her hand on Snape's forehead, she smiled. "No more fever, that's good… And you've even gained some colour to your cheeks again."

"Kingsley, let me see to your arm," she addressed the Auror. "I think the bandages are no longer required. Does it still hurt?"

"Not really," he answered, while Madam Pomfrey removed the dressings and began her examination.

"The wound is nicely healed," she stated. "What do you think?"

The Auror moved his arm carefully. "Everything's alright, Poppy. It tweaks a bit, but it no longer hurts."

"Good," the nurse nodded, satisfied. "What's left of the tweaking will be gone in a few days."

"I have full confidence in your skills, Poppy," Kingsley smiled and rose. "I promised Albus to meet him for lunch today," he told Snape somewhat excusatory, who eyed him silently. "He wishes to see my proposed curriculum for the term." He smiled somewhat whimsically. "I cannot deny that I am a bit nervous over all this."

Snape snorted derisively. "Why are you nervous, Kingsley? I agreed on your comment before without another thought – being an Auror, you of all people should be more than capable of holding a gang of students at bay. Even if they are hopelessly incompetent and obstreperous brats, they are still just _children_."

"Now now, Severus," grinned the soon-to-be-professor. "I guess they are not _that_ bad."

A corner of the Slytherin's mouth twitched. No, they are even worse, he thought. Longbottom's incapability combined with the infernal trio would make Kingsley face the facts within the first week. Although it was frightening to think that he might actually _enjoy_ teaching – for reasons shrouded to him, the Ravenclaw _liked_ those brats! Snape shook his head.

"You are very welcome to unveil all expected difficulties later today, Severus," Kingsley said slightly amused. "However, I am afraid I have to go now, I really should not keep my new employer waiting."

"Certainly, Kingsley," Madam Pomfrey agreed. "I have to look after Severus now anyway."

The Auror nodded at Snape and the nurse and swept out of the door, not before winking and mouthing another '_promenade'_ at the bedridden man.

"Alright, Severus…" the nurse said, turning to Snape.

"Poppy," the ill wizard interrupted her impatiently and slightly annoyed already. "What's all this about this blasted _garden walk_?" The sensation of helplessness rushed anew through his body, making him flinch. "I certainly cannot… I mean, what do you expect?" An apprehension dawned on him that made his guts clench abruptly. "I most definitely will not let myself be _floated_ around the school…"

Madam Pomfrey cast him an astounded glance. "What… No, Severus, no! Where did you get that idea from?" she tried to calm down the Potions Master, who had anxiously lowered his gaze. "Nobody will float anybody around here." A brief smile passed her features at the obvious utter lack of knowledge of her patient in these matters.

"This morning I sent for a wheelchair from St. Mungo's," she explained. "Even if this contraption is a Muggle invention and rarely used in our world outside of medical facilities, it proves rather useful at times."

Snape looked up and furrowed his brow. "A _wheelchair_?" Dimly he remembered equipment in the hospital where the definition seemed fitting. People who were not able to walk on their own were being pushed around in these by others. He didn't like the idea at all. Besides…

"Hogwarts has quite a few stairs…" he stated dryly.

"My dear professor," the nurse smiled, "even if this is a Muggle device, it doesn't mean that it's not a bit _amendable_. Medical artefacts are subjects to special exemptions, as Arthur Weasley kindly informed me."

Madam Pomfrey apparently found the less than enthusiastic reaction from the Potions Master slightly irritating, since she sighed quietly.

"I'm very sorry, but you don't have any other option for now," she said. "After your shoulder is healed and your body has regained its strength, you will get used to crutches…" A gasp from the Slytherin made her cut off in the middle of the sentence.

"Poppy," he hissed quietly, head downcast and eyes closed. "I don't want a wheelchair… and no crutches either." He clenched his eyelids tightly together, feeling a suspicious burning sensation rebuilding behind them. "I want my leg back," he whispered.

Silence…

Then he heard the healer sit down beside the bed and felt her hand on his shoulder. He swallowed hard on the lump in his throat and opened his eyes. Carefully trying to keep the bandaged stump out of his field of vision, he looked at the nurse, blinking.

Madam Pomfrey squeezed his shoulder gently. "Severus," she said soothingly, "I am well aware of how you feel. Albus, Kingsley… we all know what you are going through. And I can assure you that we all will help you through this difficult time."

Snape pressed his lips together, swallowing, while the nurse continued stroking his shoulder soothingly.

"We all certainly know that this loss is not easy to digest for you," she said. "However, you must not let yourself go now. Yes, Severus…" she added when the Potions Master cast a strange glance at her. "You _must_ accept the situation at hand – for your own sake. I don't say that it will be easy, but even with a disability like this you will be able to lead a nearly normal life."

Just – _nearly_… Snape heard the voice of the healer, yet her words of comfort hardly permeated his mind. Just that very moment another painful throb in his stump came like a reminder, and he couldn't prevent a tear from trickling down his cheek. He knew that Madam Pomfrey was right. It was _not so bad_, true, and his rationality told him once again that he could have been far worse off. However… He sighed quietly.

"You need some time, I know," Madam Pomfrey said gently, wiping away the tear. "That's why you will get some fresh air this very day, because it will give you a distraction as well."

Snape nodded mutely, his head downcast. Smiling, the nurse gave his shoulder one last encouraging squeeze and rose.

"Are you in pain, Severus?" she asked, now having regained the professional tone of a healer.

The constant pounding in his head and injured limbs made Snape nod quicker than he actually wanted. He looked at Madam Pomfrey, his brow furrowed in pain.

"At least I can help you with that immediately," Madam Pomfrey said, measuring the already familiar drops onto a spoon which she put in the Slytherin's mouth. She held up the flask against the light to examine the left over contents. "For this alone you should bounce back soon," she winked. "My stock on healing potions is running low, and I am sure you would most trust your own expertise in brewing."

The corner of his mouth twitched, as Snape arched an eyebrow and grazed Madam Pomfrey with a slight sneer.

She laughed. "Good to see that you've at least regained your familiar expression, Severus."

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	8. Autumn 2

_Ah, the chapter of detailed tranquillity at last…with a cameo of Peeves and the Bloody Baron - Enjoy!_ ;-)

My wonderful betas, who I will cover with roses if I ever meet them: **Persephone Lupin** and **lucidity**

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**Autumn 2**

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_Citrus bergamia_, Snape thought absentmindedly, while Madam Pomfrey helped him with handling his physical needs using professional detachment. These intrusions on his most private sphere still bothered him greatly, and he tried to distract his mind with studying various possibilities to improve the taste of his concoctions without tampering with their magical efficiency. He undoubtedly was well aware of the fact that he was hardly able to make a single movement without the help of Madam Pomfrey – however with certain necessary tasks he had the nagging sensation of being at the mercy of the nurse and this as a consequence caused him great uneasiness. The oil of the bergamot fruit could be a possibly rewarding approach to start with... Not only would this fruit essence improve the taste of his potions, it could mean a potential increase in tolerability as well. While Madam Pomfrey tucked him tightly in a fresh blanket, he made a mental note to ask Professor Sprout about the school's stock of bergamot.

"What time do you plan to carry out this …farce?" Snape asked, slightly suspicious. After having endured the preceding emotional torture, and since the painkilling potions finally developed their full effect, he registered a feeling in his stomach that almost had become unfamiliar to him. With a hint of relief he realised that he was actually _hungry_. Yet, if these two hyperactive hens wanted to drag him out in the garden – however they imagined doing so… At that very moment his stomach echoed his concern with a low growl.

The nurse was obviously keen-eared, since she chuckled low in her throat. "In the afternoon, Severus," she smiled at her patient, while she tenderly placed his injured arm onto a freshly clothed pillow. "What do you want for lunch? Soup?"

"Poppy," the Potions Master grimaced. "Why in Merlin's name is there hardly ever anything else to eat other than soup in medical establishments?"

"Now, you're exaggerating, Severus. Firstly, soup is easy to digest and so suitable for bed-ridden patients, and secondly… Well, you haven't objected to soup before."

"I have barely been conscious lately," Snape growled. "However, I would not be averse to an alternative."

"Hm," the nurse smiled. "What do you have in mind?"

A nice tenderloin steak passed by Snape's inner eye and sense of taste. But as fast as his mouth started watering, he also dispelled the idea from his mind. One-armed, as he currently was, there was little hope that he would be able to eat his lunch without help. As if it would not have been humiliating enough to get spoon-fed like an infant – but to watch Madam Pomfrey cutting _his_ steak? Most definitely not. Which left him with some food for the toothless, after all.

"At least some kind of stew," he said, resigning. "Anything but soup."

"I believe I was informed that the kitchen elves received a batch of lentils this morning. Do you like lentil stew?"

"My physical well-being is in your hands, Poppy," the Slytherin sighed slightly frustrated, while erasing all images of non-fluid edibles from his memory for the time being.

"I will order the kitchen to not scrimp on the bacon," Madam Pomfrey winked at the ill wizard and went over to the fireplace.

It didn't take long for the lunch to arrive and soon a spicy smell from the entrance promised that the kitchen elves were able to surpass themselves even with such a simple dish like lentil stew. The nurse helped Snape to sit up, tucked a pillow behind his back and then put a small table before him, on which she placed the meal. Sitting down beside the bed, she took the spoon and dipped it into the viscous contents of the plate.

"Poppy," Snape said reluctantly. "I… I would like to eat by myself."

Madam Pomfrey cast him a serious glance. "Alright then…" She put the spoon down again and rose. "But please tell me if you need any help, Severus. You are still very weak and this surely is not the time for stubborn pride. In the meantime I will get some neglected work done." With an encouraging smile on her lips she departed, leaving the Potions Master alone.

"Hm," Snape growled to himself. In moments like these he especially appreciated the discreet manner of the practised healer. He didn't even know why he wanted to prove this to himself now, but a vague feeling told him that a big part of his self-esteem depended solely on the fact that he would be able to at least feed himself half-decently on his own – even if it were just a few bites. With great effort he lifted his arm to take the spoon. His gaze fell on his trembling forearm, over which the sleeve of the nightshirt was drawn back a bit, giving him the sight of an emaciated wrist. Pensively he surveyed the sickly pale skin under which capillary, blue veins and the protruding bones of the joint were clearly visible. The Slytherin considered asking Madam Pomfrey for a mirror afterwards. His outer appearance had never been very high on his personal list of priorities, yet – if even his wrist was such a _pitiable_ sight… The goose bumps, which began to sneak up over his back, were thankfully fought down by the spicy fragrance that played around his nose. Inhaling a deep breath, Snape slowly dipped the spoon in the steaming food. Lentils, oh well, seems like one has to rejoice in the simple things of life, he thought, balancing the first spoonful in the direction of his mouth with an unstable hand.

Stubbornly ignoring the aching in his stiff joints, he achieved the goal of eating half of the portion at least. As his movements became increasingly slower and more laboured, Madam Pomfrey finally came to help. The nurse had discreetly kept track of his activities and eventually fed the exhausted wizard the rest of the portion without making a fuss.

Snape sat back, sighing, and closed his eyes, while Madam Pomfrey cleaned away the remains of the lunch.

"It's alright, Severus," she said, as she vanished the small table. "You've got to take it easy now."

Furrowing his brow, the Potions Master growled. Once again he was uncomfortably aware of every single bone in his body. _Bones_… "Poppy…" he began reluctantly. "Do you have a mirror?"

"Why do you…" Noticing the frown on Snape's face, the healer cut off. "Just a moment," she said curtly and hurried off to return some moments later, a small mirror in her hand which she handed to the Slytherin.

Slowly, Snape reached for the mirror and held it up to his face. The reflection looking back to at him made him freeze. His eyes lay sunken deeply in their sockets and were framed with circles, the colour of which appeared as dark as his iris. His frame had always been rather lean and he had been graced with distinctive facial features, but never before had his face resembled a skull to such an extent. Greenish-sallow skin drawn taut over prominent chin and cheekbones, and across his brow was a crimson-coloured …_scar_.

He felt the urge to reach for his forehead – to touch the scar, to fondle the chiselled features, the ashen skin. Breathing heavily, he laid down the mirror and lowered his gaze to his lap.

"Time, Severus…" he heard the low voice of Madam Pomfrey beside him. "Grant yourself some time."

Snape sighed quietly. As if time could really heal all wounds…

The healer took the mirror and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Tonight we'll start to strengthen your body again," she said. "Due to the long time you lay quiet your muscles weakened and your joints became stiff. And we have to do something about that, right?"

"A promenade does not qualify for that?"

"No," Madam Pomfrey answered, ignoring the acerbic undertone in his remark. "Until now the high concentration of healing potions in your organism prevented me from using wand magic, but now you are getting better and we can slowly reduce the dosage at last. Tonight we'll start with that."

A rumbling noise made them both startle. The door to the ward was pushed open from the outside and a strange looking contraption was pushed over the threshold, followed by a slightly panting Kingsley.

"Good afternoon to you," the Ravenclaw grinned, while pushing the wheelchair with one hand and balancing a thick, leather-bound book in the other.

"Severus," he said. "I brought you something – a bit of night-time reading you'd probably appreciate." He stored the wheelchair in a corner and handed the book over to the still frowning Potions Master. Snape slowly reached out and took the book, and after a look at the cover his expression lightened up in elated surprise.

"_Suci Insoliti_! The out of print original edition! Where did you get this, Kingsley?" He placed the book in his lap, opened it and began to carefully flip through the pages. The illustrations of the plants and herbs were of sophisticated artistic design and emitted authentic scents. Some of the little plants even swayed in an imaginary breeze. "All later editions were of inferior quality – the flavour-charm wore off after some time," the Potions Master explained, while his long, scrawny fingers caressed the already yellowed pages almost fondly.

Kingsley smiled. "I know. You have told me about this compendium more than once. I'm glad you like it. However, you have to keep your curiosity in check for a while."

Snape emitted a growling sound, as he realised that he obviously could not get past his fate. He could not escape these two. Kingsley produced a black bundle from the bag of the wheelchair, which he gave to Madam Pomfrey.

"Ah – thanks, Kingsley… _What_, Severus…" she reacted to a quizzical look from the Potions Master. "Do you think I will let you out into the cold in a nightshirt?"

"Are you suggesting that I should get dressed?" Snape asked innocently, while his heart skipped a secret beat. It seemed like he could finally get rid of this disgustingly white hospital-gown, even if it was just temporarily. _One arguably finally grows humble_, he thought, realising his musings. Some black robes to rectify the world – how pathetic.

"I suggest just that," Madam Pomfrey answered curtly. "Kingsley, we'll need some more time here…"

"Alright," answered the Ravenclaw, who obviously got the hint and turned back to the entrance. "I wanted to look for Filch anyway, since there's a draught in my flat and that's particularly uncomfortable this time of the year."

Left alone again, the nurse turned to the Potions Master, whose face didn't exactly reflect joyful anticipation.

"Don't put on such a face, Severus," she said. "You'll see it will do you good."

She cautiously slipped her arm under his torso and cast a simple levitating charm to help him into a sitting position. Some skilled moves later, Snape found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily while he desperately tried to ignore the aching in his limbs and the rising dizziness.

"The vertigo will pass," the healer comforted him, while supporting him with one hand and flicking her wand with the other to summon the simple black robe. As she carefully removed the hospital-gown, Snape stared perseveringly at the opposite wall, his face a tense frown. He noticed that Madam Pomfrey consciously tried to avoid touching the bare skin of his chest – a fact he gave her credit for. The nurse dressed him with a warm undershirt, gingerly helping him to push his good right arm through the sleeve. A hint of comforting satisfaction rushed through the Slytherin as the familiar black of the robe passed before his eyes. He looked down at his body – aside from the fact that the left sleeve of the robe was hanging down limply, he seemed to have approximately regained his normal and accustomed unobtrusive appearance. Almost satisfied with this discovery, a corner of his mouth unconsciously curled upwards.

"Are you able to sit on your own for a moment, Severus?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "I'll get the wheelchair."

Wheelchair… so much for _unobtrusive_, he thought and a deep frown spread anew over his face.

"I am," the Potions Master growled and narrowed his eyes as the nurse summoned that blasted device. At least there where no students here yet, he thought. He pressed his lips together in disapproval, as Madam Pomfrey again unceremoniously embraced his upper body and lifted him off the edge of the bed with a levitation charm. With a mumbled "alley-oop" she let his body slide in the wheelchair, just before his consciousness could realise that he had actually been airborne for a brief moment. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes while Madam Pomfrey straightened his robe.

Just then the door opened and Kingsley stepped over the threshold, shaking his head in disbelief. "I wouldn't have thought this possible, but it seems like Filch is getting worse every year. I was under the impression that you feed him enough students already – don't you, Severus? One could assume that he might have enough opportunities to let off his steam during the semester…"

The tall Auror wore a warm, hooded cloak, the scarab blue of which accentuated his golden earring even more than usual. "Hello Poppy… Severus…" he greeted them cheerfully. "Are you ready?"

"If this witch will let off me in the near future – yes," Snape answered, casting a venomous glance at Madam Pomfrey who was busily tucking him in a thick, fluffy blanket.

"If you get cold, then Kingsley can warm up the blanket easily," the nurse said, ignoring his scowl. "And I'd advise you, do tell him when you freeze, Severus. A cold is the last thing you'd need now, of all things." She tucked in the last lappet of the blanket. "And now, off you go. Enjoy the good weather as long as possible."

Kingsley reached for the handles of the wheelchair. "We'll do just that, Poppy. See you later!" Snape just emitted a sceptical grunt while they left the ward.

Already at the time they reached the first staircase, the magical modification of the wheelchair became obvious, since the device glided smoothly down the stairs as if sliding on an invisible ramp. While Kingsley chattered on about his lunch with the headmaster, the Potions Master tried to fight down anew the rising demons of personal self-doubt. He felt helpless, at the mercy of his environment, and every appraising glance from the portraits pierced his self-esteem right down to its innermost. He knew that after their… after Kingsley's paces had died away, the portraits would certainly start whispering and gossiping, and his pathetic appearance would spread the school like a wildfire. Thank Merlin that he was spared the students at least, he thought while he desperately tried to save face. Looking up, his gaze fell upon a bright orange bow tie…

"Peeves…" growled Snape and Kingsley nearly in unison. Right in front of them, the small poltergeist floated in mid-air, his beady mischievous eyes widening and staring from one to the other. As he opened his mouth, Snape flinched slightly and braced himself for the expected ribaldries. Nevertheless, he forced himself to glare at Peeves in his habitual manner, as the poltergeist suddenly shut his mouth again and absconded without another sound. Utterly astonished Snape turned back to Kingsley and realised at once the reason for Peeves' helter skelter leaving. The Bloody Baron was hovering behind them in all his eerie beauty, nodding his translucent head in greeting.

"Professor Snape, Professor Shacklebolt," the ghost said politely and glided a bit further to come to a stop before them.

"Baron…" Snape greeted back, slightly bowing his head in respect. Being Head of Slytherin, he cultivated a good and mutually respectful relationship with his house's ghost.

"It pleases me to see you up, Professor," the Bloody Baron said. "May I inquire about your condition? The most peculiar rumours about your bodily well-being have been afloat in the castle lately. You certainly know…" He waved a translucent hand in a derogative manner. "…the ghosts and these gossiping portraits."

"I am… well, Baron," Snape answered. "I appreciate your concern, thank you." _And thank you for having a constant eye on Peeves_, he added in thought.

"We're on our way to the garden, Baron," Kingsley said. "Why don't you come along?"

"Thank you for the invitation, Professor Shacklebolt. I would be glad to accompany you down to the castle entrance."

The unusual companionship got in motion, and Kingsley made a face as if he would have hoped that the ghost had rather declined his polite proposal. Being a Ravenclaw, he had no particular relationship to the ghost of Slytherin house, and it was common knowledge that students and alumni of the other houses alike preferred to evade the Bloody Baron. Apparently they were uncomfortable with his scary appearance.

The Potions Master engaged himself in light conversation with the Baron, who floated beside them, to get to know the latest news from around the school. However – everything the ghost narrated seemed so peripheral to him, so _unimportant_. He made a few annotations, nodded or shook his head appropriate to the ghost's tales, yet most of what he heard just bounced off him. At least the Baron had the proper tact to not ask any further about his condition – and his company guaranteed the absence of Peeves. At last they reached the main entrance and the ghost bid them farewell.

"Professor Snape, Professor Shacklebolt – it has been a pleasure," the Baron said, head held high. "I assume I speak for all Hogwarts ghosts when I wish you to get well soon, Professor Snape."

"Thank you, Baron," Snape said, and the ghost glided away.

"I have yet to get used to this 'Professor', I guess," Kingsley said, grinning, while he pushed the wheelchair over the threshold.

"You would arguably be in good company with this, Kingsley," the Potions Master answered acidly. "Many a student doesn't get used to this title over his whole schooldays. Or the respect that should go along with it."

Kingsley chuckled. "Ah yes, you wanted to prepare me for the expected adversities of the teaching profession."

"Hm… Just always keep in mind that _you_ are the ill-fated authority that is obliged to prepare a bunch of dunderheads for their survival in the real world. Thus, everything should turn out well."

"And my reputation would then resemble that of a certain, well-known Potions Master as well, yes?" Kingsley joked.

"My reputation is excellent," Snape answered with a slight sneer. "In circles the opinion of which I consider relevant, certainly."

"Well, have it your way, then," his friend smiled. "However, I consider myself more of an integrative type of person."

The pebbles of the gravel walk crunched under the Ravenclaw's feet, and the sun of the clear October afternoon shone just strong enough to prevent their breath from turning into little clouds of condensate. However, the temperature was chilly and Snape estimated from the height of the sun that they would have about an hour left until the sunset. It scented of autumn leaves, and the conifers of the nearby Forbidden Forest were shrouded in mist. Blinking in the sun, the Potions Master took a deep breath. The clear, cool air did good, he felt even-tempered and strangely _freed_. After arriving at an old maple tree they stopped and Kingsley conjured a chair to sit down beside Snape. The autumn ambience was breathtaking – the heath land grass and the trees gleamed in various colours, and the lake was covered with threads of silvery haze. Kingsley searched his robes and produced a small pipe, which he began stuffing fondly. Snape surveyed him in slight amusement, as his friend lit up his little art-piece of wood and tobacco, and then started to pleasurably blow rings of smoke in the air. As if sensing Snape's gaze resting on him, Kingsley turned to the Slytherin, winking.

"Like to try?" He held out the pipe.

Snape shuddered. "No, thanks."

"You don't know what you're missing."

"I prefer the spicy aroma of an infusion of wormwood in a potion over this pocket-sized smouldering fire."

Kingsley nearly dropped his pipe laughing, and even Snape's expression displayed the hint of a smile. The two of them have been playing this game for so long already, he thought. Not even in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that there was indeed someone in this world who was amused to such an extent by his sardonic remarks – until he got to know Kingsley. And he even smiled when Kingsley broke into his genial, deep-voiced laughter. Kingsley had changed him – more than he would have ever admitted to himself. However, regarding his most peculiar ideas on "quality of life" Kingsley will not be successful in changing his thinking – definitely. Furrowing his brow, Snape watched as a squirrel ran over the grass and then hopped up on a tree. Some time ago Kingsley honestly wanted to convince him to move his quarters up to the first floor! Because of the light… and the view!

Through a cloud of pipe smoke the Slytherin looked down to the abandoned hut of the caretaker at the edge of the forest, the chimney of which did not emit smoke anymore and the windows of which appeared empty and dark. Even though he had never been particularly close to Hagrid, he still missed something. He almost waited for the door of the hut to open and the half-giant to trundle over the threshold, followed by that monster of a dog. He sighed quietly. Too many losses…

"Albus is planning on a little memorial service in the next weeks," Snape heard Kingsley say, as if the Ravenclaw had read his thoughts. "To commemorate the sacrifices Hogwarts had to make."

The Potions Master remained silent. Well, it would certainly take its time until life would return back to normal in the school, he thought. Lowering his head, a chilly shiver passed over him. The sun was about to set and thus the temperature had become cold as well. Mumbling a spell, Kingsley flicked his wand to heat up Snape's blanket.

"Let's go back inside, shall we, Severus?" he asked. "Poppy is going to strangle me if I cause you to catch a cold."

Snape nodded and tried with his right hand to manoeuvre the warm blanket a bit up to his chin, while his friend cleaned his pipe. After vanishing his chair, Kingsley took the handles of the wheelchair again and the both of them made their way back up to the castle.

Their way back was made in relative silence and without any further incident. Obviously, Peeves had received his effective pounding from the Bloody Baron, since he quickly zoomed out of sight when he saw them approaching. As they entered the hospital wing, not only was Madam Pomfrey awaiting them but also the Headmaster.

"Good evening, you two," Dumbledore greeted them with a smile. "Severus, your cheeks are red!" His smile broadened to a wide grin.

"That's due to the chill, Albus," Snape answered.

The Headmaster chuckled and Kingsley laughed. "He would never admit that he enjoyed it – would you, Severus?"

The Potions Master frowned and was just about to retort, as Madam Pomfrey interrupted the scene.

"Enough now," she said in a tone that accepted no contradiction, and then took away the blanket. "Severus," she turned to the Slytherin, her voice now gentle. "We have good news."

Snape arched a sceptical eyebrow. "Yes…?"

"Poppy got news from St. Mungo's," said Dumbledore, "concerning the curse."

The healer smiled. "A counter-curse has been found. We'll finally be able to heal your shoulder."

o

ooo

o

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**Notes: **

_sucus, -i_: (medicinal) essence or juice (of a plant); _insolitus_: strange, uncommon.

_lentil stew_ is actually an Austrian dish. I made the Hogwarts kitchen elves a bit international as well, I guess, hehe. It's like lentil soup, but a bit more viscous and it's usually served with dumplings and bacon or smoked ham. And it tastes great, hehe.

I have produced a little illustration for this chapter, a portrait of Severus and Kingsley under the maple tree. It can be found in my gallery under the title "Severus and Kingsley" (the link to the gallery is the "homepage"-link on my profile-page), or at **www**(dot)**xiaogui**(dot)**tk**. And I would certainly be happy about comments on it :)


	9. Fading

Many thanks go to my wonderful betas **Persephone Lupin** and **lucidity**!

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o

**Fading**

o

After Madam Pomfrey had tucked Snape back in and shooed Kingsley and the Headmaster out of the ward, she took a chair and sat down beside the bed.

"I turned them away because I suggest we'd better try the healing procedure in private" she said, her expression serious. "Since the fracture is not new anymore and since I can only make a rough estimate on the remaining after-effects of the curse, there is a tiny risk of complications." Listening to the explanation from the nurse, Snape's brow furrowed.

"Don't worry, Severus," Madam Pomfrey said soothingly. "The procedure is not dangerous. It just could be a bit painful and thus I wanted to spare you the audience."

Somehow, Snape had the slight suspicion that this statement of the nurse should at least worry him a bit. On the other hand – after the occurrences of the recent past, this particular revelation of perhaps expected pain could only wrest a weary smile from him – which immediately started to curl a corner of his mouth. Apart from him, the former Death Eater, there was arguably no one at this school who could produce first-hand experience on pain to such an extent. It could be assumed that this fact was the reason why the headmaster had forced him to teach Potions in the first place – anyone else would have resigned long ago…

Just the moment when reason won over cynicism, reminding him that he, being Master of Potions, was obviously the only logical choice for the task – utterly detached from his questionable past as torturer and tortured – the voice of Madam Pomfrey pulled him out of his musings.

"I think it would be best to first deal with everything else, and then attend to your shoulder," she said, rising from the chair.

This "everything else" defined itself by a clearly visible hump under the duvet and the Potions Master once again closed his eyes, as the healer pulled back the blankets and started to get rid of the bandages with a few well-placed spells – carefully, layer by layer. When a cool breeze brushed over the exposed skin, an involuntary shudder passed through Snape's body. He opened his eyes and met the gaze of the Madam Pomfrey, who stopped in her motions.

"Never mind, Poppy," he growled out through tightly gritted teeth. "It's… it's alright."

Yet – although he was annoyed about himself, and although he tried to suppress these irrational sensations of anxiety and weakness, there was a train of thought dawning, and increasingly gnawing at him. Not that he would not have been pleased about the eventual discovery of this ominous counter-curse – whether it might work or not. _Just a few days_… A wave of vague emotions flooded through him, making him shut his eyelids tightly. The sensation of anxiety deliberately made place for another: rage. As he felt soft bandages on his bare skin, perceived the low breathing of the nurse, he finally began to quarrel with his fate. His eyes sprang open and fixed the healer. As if she had sensed his penetrating glare, Madam Pomfrey paused and slowly turned around to face him.

"What's the matter, Severus?" she asked with a stern expression.

"You said, the counter-curse has been found?"

Madam Pomfrey's brow furrowed. "Yes…" she answered reluctantly.

"When was that?"

"I was informed this afternoon. Why?" Obviously the nurse saw Snape's point in spite of her answer, since she evaded his piercing glare. The Slytherin pressed his lips together and took a deep breath through his nose.

"A few days…" he whispered, his eyes narrowed. "Just a few days…"

Madam Pomfrey lowered her gaze. "Matters evolved …rather unfortunately, yes."

"RATHER UNFORTUNATELY...?" Snape exploded. If there was one – in his eyes – moronic and unnecessary declaration on this soil, that one was just it. He had reached the dead end, and this statement finally pushed him over the edge into emotional abyss. "I've… I LOST A LEG THANKS TO YOU INCOMPETENT CHARLATANS!" he roared. Sweat poured down his face as he attempted to bring his body to sit up in the bed. He wanted to flee, to escape… This all just couldn't be happening…

"SEVERUS! By Merlin's name, calm down!" The nurse grabbed his shoulders, trying to pin her agitated patient back down on the mattress.

"No…" Snape gasped, writhing under the grip of the healer. A sharp pain from his injured shoulder pierced through his body and made him groan in agony.

"Severus, please calm down," Madam Pomfrey said almost pleadingly, while continuing to push his upper body down to the bed. "You will hurt yourself again. If you don't lie quiet I must bind you to the bed. _Please_…!"

Slowly the movements of the Potions Master abated. Drenched in sweat and panting for air, he let himself sink back on the pillows. He held his eyes closed and breathed heavily, while trying to ignore the pain in his fractured shoulder that had flared up anew. When he realised that Madam Pomfrey reluctantly let go of his shoulders and withdrew her hands, he opened his eyes and gazed at her, his brow in deep furrows and his chin trembling.

"Poppy…" he whispered, utterly deflated. "What's the matter with me?"

The Slytherin had no clue of what had just happened. He, who had always been adamant on isolating his emotions from the dangerously curious outside world and keeping up a stoic, unreadable façade – how could he again loose control to such an extent? Was he approaching a nervous breakdown? Seeking for help, he looked into Madam Pomfrey's hazel eyes.

"Severus," the nurse began with a soothing voice, while gently dabbing the sweat from his forehead and cheeks. "You are under a great deal of emotional stress, and the constant high level of medication in your system is even adding to that. Such spontaneous emotional fluctuations are not uncommon in such a state."

"I thought I had overcome this," Snape mumbled, his gaze lowered to his lap. "But when I realised…" He shook his head. "Just a few days earlier…"

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "I assure you that I had the same thought when the news reached me this afternoon. And it was clear to me that you would not be spared this realisation yourself. I'm sorry, Severus."

The Slytherin closed his eyes. "I'm sure you gave your best, Poppy."

The nurse didn't answer, but reached for her wand instead. At his prior outburst, Snape had swept some flasks from the nightstand, and the spilled potions had formed a small puddle on the floor. Mumbling an _Evanesco_, Madam Pomfrey vanished the liquid along with the cullet.

"I could send for a specialist from St. Mungo's, if you like."

"A _specialist_?"

"A healer, who is…" Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. "…specialised in psychic traumas."

"Psychic _what_?" Snape glared at the healer. This witch considered him …_insane_!

"Severus – said specialist would be able to help you with the unaccustomed emotional strains you are currently experiencing. I am experienced with problems of children and teenagers, but this is not exactly my area of expertise."

Narrowing his eyes, Snape slowly shook his head. "No Poppy, I'm not in need for a mental witch doctor." Now that would be the final key to his happiness, _certainly_ – someone totally unknown to fumble around his mind and hypnotise him with some silly pendulum! He took a deep breath. "No… I assume I will be capable to cope with this by myself."

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "I knew you would say that. Anyway, you are perfectly right in one point – you will be able to cope with it. However, you are mistaken about the fact that you have to cope with it just by yourself. Even you should have discovered by now that you have a lot of people by your side, trying to help you."

"Hm," growled the Potions Master.

The nurse obviously took that as consent, since she smiled at him encouragingly. "And with this counter-curse we can not only heal your shoulder, but also quicken the healing of the wound on your leg. And after you got rid of the pain, and after you'll finally be able to escape this bed and this infirmary, you'll soon be better – I'm certain."

Snape thought of his own chambers, his own bed, his familiar clothes – had this witch secretly studied Legilimency? The prospect of finally fleeing this blasted ward put the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

"I knew it," stated Madam Pomfrey as she smiled back, and then squeezed his shoulder gently. "Shall we begin?"

With a wordless nod the Slytherin noted his agreement, and the healer placed her wand out on the nightstand.

"You need to sit up a bit now," Madam Pomfrey said, helping Snape to change position. He moaned quietly and bit his lip when the nurse carefully supported his injured arm and vanished the sling. When she had just placed the arm onto a pillow and removed the bandages from arm and shoulder, the sound of the door in the anteroom to the ward became audible.

"This is no hospital wing, this is the loo at the Quidditch World Cup," Madam Pomfrey growled, as Minerva McGonagall entered the room.

"Good afternoon, Minerva," she said, slightly annoyed. "How can I be of service?" She put her wand down again and faced the professor, who was standing in the doorway, her eyebrows knit together.

"Poppy, Severus," the Gryffindor nodded a greeting. "I'm sorry about the interruption, but I wanted to ask you for something for a headache, Poppy," she said apologetically.

"How are you, Severus?" she addressed the Potions Master, while Madam Pomfrey went to retrieve the requested medicament.

Snape didn't answer – no, he didn't even pay attention to his colleague. Staring at his bare left forearm, his eyes grew wide.

"It's …gone," he whispered. He hadn't realised it until now, but the Dark Mark has vanished.

"Gone…" he repeated unbelievingly, raising his head. Madam Pomfrey had returned, the painkiller for McGonagall in her hand. Carefully, she helped the wizard to turn the trembling arm. A greenish-yellow bruise was visible on the inside, resembling a fading haematoma. Snape palmed the darker spot on sallow skin, his fingertips quivering. It was different than last time, seventeen years ago. Back then the Mark had faded, true, but he had known, the Dark Lord was not gone; had known, the Mark would burn again, and he would be called again – some day. And he had known that he would be slave to his misguided decisions, further on. Yet, now…

"Free… at last," he muttered, gazing at the two women who eyed him with mixed expressions. The realisation hit him hard.

McGonagall was the first to speak. "Is it really gone?" she asked, her voice displaying curiosity as well as a slight hint of repulsion.

The Slytherin knew that she – being Gryffindor par excellence, fighter for the good and full of nearly insufferable faith in the side of Light – did not digest that particular aspect of his past well. Unlike Madam Pomfrey, with whom he had allowed himself to share his most vulnerable and emotional moments, since she has been his personal healer for a long time, Minerva McGonagall knew him only as Potions Professor, Head of Slytherin House and …ex-Death Eater. The both of them had cultivated a cooperative working relationship, but more personal moments had been an exception ever since.

Madam Pomfrey reached for her wand. "May I, Severus?"

Snape nodded mutely and the healer examined the bruise.

"As a matter of fact, this is really just the remains of a haematoma," she said pensively. "To be honest – I spotted this mark when I first examined your wounds, but in view of the other injuries you sustained, I didn't pay further attention to this one. The thought that this could be the remains of the Dark Mark didn't even cross my mind," she added sheepishly. "Be that as it may – there is no more Dark Magic detectable. The Mark is gone, Severus."

"I know," Snape answered quietly. "I feel it."

Gingerly he touched the forearm of his injured limb. That was it, then – a leg for his freedom. Kept in perspective, the bargain could be worse. Sighing, he lifted his head. "Shall we get it over with then, Poppy?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Can you please see to it that we will not be interrupted again, Minerva?"

"Certainly, Poppy," answered the Gryffindor and said goodbye.

Madam Pomfrey then turned back to Snape. "To support the healing process, I'll give you a small dose of Skele-Gro." She measured a couple of drops onto a spoon and put it in the Potions Master's mouth, who grimaced in disgust.

"Some things are just the same with all my patients – young and old," the nurse smiled.

"It seems that this concoction needs amendment as well," Snape growled, while he tried to get rid of the revolting tang in his mouth.

"Not only the students would be grateful, Severus," Madam Pomfrey grinned. "Are you ready?"

Snape nodded and the healer pointed her wand at the still clearly visible wound on his upper arm. Knitting her brow in deep concentration, she mumbled an incantation. A warm breeze encased the Slytherin's bare arm and shoulder, and he felt a tingling sensation. After another flick of the wand by the nurse, the tingling grew into a twinge, and then into throbbing pain.

"Just a moment, Severus," said Madam Pomfrey, as Snape drew a low hissing breath through clenched teeth. "Just another flick and it's over." She mumbled the incantation again and after another sharp prick the pain faded away again.

"So…" she said, a satisfied smile on her lips. "The flesh wound is healed and the bone mended." She felt cautiously around the upper arm. "How does it feel?"

"Tingly," answered the Potions Master. "But it doesn't hurt anymore."

"The tingling is due to the Skele-Gro, and will take some time to abate. It's just to help the cells of the bone to interlock quicker. Does it hurt when I move the arm?" She carefully lifted the elbow a bit.

"Only in the joints…"

"Good," smiled Madam Pomfrey and flicked her wand for another closer examination. "Apparently, the counter-curse was effective," she stated. "I'm going to stabilise the arm again and tomorrow we'll repeat the treatment. I'm confident that the fracture will be healed by tomorrow." Another flick conjured a sling, which immobilised the Potions Master's arm again.

"And now we'll attend to your muscles and joints, shall we? I'm positive that it will make things easier for you if you'll finally be able to wave a wand again."

o

ooo

o

* * *

**A/N**: the expression "a loo at the Quidditch World Cup" was a suggestion from lucidity, who had a hard time finding something suitable for a rather untranslatable Austrian word I had used in the original version. Thank you very much! 

I have to admit that I'm not so happy with this chapter, but I didn't want to change it in the translation. I hope you find it acceptable nevertheless. Next chapter will be Kingsley-time again, among other appearances (of adult characters).


	10. Prelude

Betas: **Persephone Lupin** and **lucidity** – thank you very much, I would be lost without you!

Enjoy!

* * *

o

**Prelude**

o

"So tomorrow tranquillity will be past..."

Kingsley chuckled. "Is it really that bad that school starts again? I actually assumed you'd already be bored without the children," he added teasingly.

"I daresay that I could live quite comfortably without the permanent ruckus all over the castle," Snape answered, while picking a maple leaf to little pieces.

o

Today was the first day in a long time that he was relatively free of pain, as Snape had noticed this morning with satisfaction. Madam Pomfrey's skills combined with the counter curse had essentially proven successful – after another treatment the fracture of the humerus was fully healed, and in the following days the healer concentrated on the strengthening of Snape's muscles and the restoration of the mobility in the joints, which had become stiff due to the long time of recumbency. It was no pleasant experience for the Slytherin, whose tether finally reached its end after another full hour of flexing and stretching of his limbs, garnished with constant massages and healing charms by the nurse. However, Madam Pomfrey reduced him back to a mutely suffering heap outright with a long tirade about similar kinds of situations practised in methods of non-magical medicine. How these Muggles could stand weeks – or even _months_ – of those rehabilitation therapies without going insane was utterly beyond him. And for the first time in his life he wholeheartedly thanked blessed Paracelsus for having seen the light of day as a wizard.

In the course of healing the wound on the stump of his upper leg Madam Pomfrey removed the bandages and after the successful procedure finally encased it with a simple protective stocking, all of which bestowed upon Snape more than one unpleasant surge of adrenaline. Yet to his own satisfaction he could keep his emotions under control, and as the healer eventually placed his wand in his lap everything around him was forgotten. With trembling fingers he caressed the smooth birch wood, as if his entire well being depended on this sole piece of dark glazed wood. And as Madam Pomfrey made a moderately amusing remark about Muggle children getting lollipops after behaving at the doctor, he even graced her with a smile.

o

"Have you decided yet?" Kingsley asked, while Snape brushed the remains of the maple leaf from his lap. After breakfast the Ravenclaw had once again picked him up for another walk in the garden, and they eventually found their way back to the spot under the maple tree. The gaze of the Potions Master wandered over the irregular treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

"Decided? What do you mean?"

"Will you attend tomorrow's feast?"

"Hm," the Potions Master emitted lowly. For two days already he had brooded over that decision. The prospect of appearing in front of the assembled students in his condition certainly didn't fill him with happy anticipation, and he arguably would have preferred a quiet dinner in self-inflicted reclusiveness. However, reason had won over his doubts – from a logical point of view it was completely irrelevant if he would face the brats tomorrow or on any other day. Moreover his attendance at the feast, as Slytherin Head of House, would be of no small symbolic significance. Despite all efforts of obviation, the reputation of Slytherin had hit rock bottom during the last year of the war. He just owed it to his house and his students to thwart that with his visible presence – particularly now that so many of the children had become orphans or de facto orphans after their parents had been accused of being Death Eaters and sentenced to Azkaban.

"Yes, I will come."

"I'm glad," smiled Kingsley. "I was afraid you'd want to miss my first official appearance as a teacher."

Snape manoeuvred the blanket higher up to his chin and waved his wand to warm it up a bit. Despite the sunny weather the temperature was chilly and according to the season.

"Did Albus rubber stamp your proposed syllabus?" he asked, while he let his wand slip into a side pocket of the wheelchair.

"Sure he did," Kingsley answered and took a drag from his pipe. "I largely follow the old curriculum of Filius anyway. By the way – Albus informed me at breakfast that the memorial service would take place in two weeks."

More involuntarily than on purpose Snape looked down to Hagrid's hut, the cold chimney and empty windows of which still reminded of the fate of its former resident. "Good," he answered.

"Albus also suggested that the Minister would be there as well, to award some decorations…"

Snape grimaced. "Now who would that be…?" Not that he would begrudge all these orders and tributes to Potter – the fact that he had freed the world from one of its most unpleasant inhabitants could not be denied. Yet, slowly but surely this entire spectacle about him could be ended at last and for good.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Both our names were mentioned as well in this connexion."

"Really…" Now that was indeed unforeseen. Still, to his own surprise this particular revelation moved him only lukewarmly. The tribute to his efforts he had longed for not so long ago came eventually a bit …_late_. To be decorated for _participating_? For being one pawn out of many on a solitary hill?

His friend watched him smilingly. "I would have thought you might be pleased about it," he said. "After all, I've heard of an episode where you nearly received a medal and were rather furious that it eventually turned out otherwise."

"My priorities in this regard seem to have shifted slightly due to recent occurrences," the Potions Master answered dryly.

"Now, I can imagine that," Kingsley mentioned while cleaning his pipe. "It's nearly midday. We should get back to the castle – otherwise we might miss lunch."

Snape nodded and reached for his wand, while Kingsley vanished his chair.

"Leave it, I'll push the wheelchair," he said. "Spare your strength for the afternoon. You'll need it then."

Sighing, the Slytherin put his wand back into the pocket and let himself be pushed by Kingsley. As relieved as he was for being able to move the wheelchair magically now, doing magic challenged his strength more than he liked. Kingsley was right; he had to save his energy, because Madam Pomfrey had signalled that he could start his first attempt on crutches this afternoon. And depending on the results of this was the chance that he might eventually be able to move back to his own quarters. Although the healer apparently could hardly release him from her motherly claws, he had stipulated this – on no account he had the desire to still lie about in the hospital wing at the start of term and so run the risk of being forced to share a room with some fallen Quidditch hero.

On their way to the Great Hall the Potions Master once again sensed the curious glances from the portraits boring into his neck. He heard the whispered conversations and tried to ignore them – hell, these were just pictures! One particularly audible clause made his gaze shoot up and fix the culprit – a mobcap bonnet wearing young witch – through narrowed eyes so icily that she instantly froze like a Muggle painting and didn't utter another tone.

As Kingsley opened the door to the Great Hall and pushed the wheelchair over the threshold all teachers currently present at the school were already assembled around a single table, conversing lightly.

The Headmaster greeted them with a friendly wave of his hand. "Kingsley, Severus! How nice of you to join us."

Professors Sprout, Sinistra and McGonagall sat at the table, as well as Madam Pomfrey and Madam Hooch. They exchanged a couple of polite greetings and the nurse shifted to make room, so that Kingsley could position Snape's wheelchair between her and the free chair for himself. The already served food smelled appetising.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," apologised Kingsley.

"Have you been to the garden?" asked Madam Sprout. "How are you, Severus?"

The Potions Master nodded uncommunicatively. "Better. Thank you for your concern, Pomona."

"It's good that you could enjoy the nice weather today," Madam Sprout smiled. "I have been preparing for the Potions classes instead."

"If any questions or problems emerge…"

"…I'll certainly turn to you, Severus," the Hufflepuff interrupted him. "Don't worry, I guess I'm able to cover for you these next few weeks."

"Good," Snape answered. What he actually thought of his colleague's expertise on potions was better kept to himself.

"Pomona," he asked, remembering his planned researches. "What about the school's stock on bergamot?"

"We have three trees in the greenhouse. Why?"

"I need some bergamot paring soon," the Potions Master answered.

"For a potion?"

_No, to improve the smell of my bathroom_. Such questions made him definitely doubt the quality of this herb-witch's stand-in classes.

"Certainly for a potion," he growled and turned his attention to his plate.

"You have to sample this venison pie," said Dumbledore and pushed the big plate towards Kingsley, who instantly loaded his plate amply. "It's so fresh you can almost still hear the deer bellowing."

While broad laughter followed the Headmaster's remark, Madam Pomfrey poured Snape a glass of beer, which he awarded with an appreciative glance.

"We can start right away after lunch, if you feel like," she said in a low voice.

The Slytherin nodded as he slowly reached out and helped himself to some of the venison pie. "The sooner, the better," he answered.

Snape mutely followed the further process of lunch, while around him topics like curricula and tomorrow's welcome feast were discussed.

"I'm curious how the house sorting this year will turn out," he heard Madam Hooch say and looked up.

"It's assumed that Slytherin will have fewer gains this year," McGonagall answered with a side-glance at Snape.

He sighed inwardly. Far too often he had watched children's mouths form those two words: _not Slytherin! _It could be doubted vehemently that this fact would change this of all years. He glared at the Gryffindor through black eyelashes, while a sneer curled the corner of his mouth.

"Quality, my dear Minerva, not quantity."

McGonagall opened her mouth for a furious tit-for-tat response, but was stopped by the tea- and coffeepots appearing on the table. Snape smiled smugly while pouring himself a cup of coffee. The scores would be settled at the end of the year anyway, and he would give his best to help Slytherin on its way to the House Cup – as ever. The fact that this year would not be easy for his house could be compensated by targeted point deductions. When he would be teaching again… He made a mental note to ask Madam Pomfrey about that topic.

o

"These… blasted… crutches!"

Drenched in sweat and trembling all-over Snape stood in the middle of the ward, the bulky wooden monstrosities under his arms, and flanked on both sides by Kingsley and Madam Pomfrey.

"Slowly, Severus," Kingsley soothed. He held out his arm behind Snape's back, ready to keep his friend from falling in case he would overbalance.

It had looked quite easy, at first. The nurse had demonstrated the handling of the crutches and then helped Snape together with Kingsley to stand up from the wheelchair. Standing on one – and a weak and shaky to boot – leg turned out more draining than expected. And keeping the balance on his own was completely out of the question, as the Slytherin had to realise soon. Where had that catlike gracefulness gone in which he had prided himself… Somewhat frustrated he had taken the crutches out of Madam Pomfrey's hands and tried to manage a couple of unsteady steps. At first Kingsley and the nurse had their hands supportively at his shoulders, until they let go and he did some steps alone.

"Be patient, Severus," Madam Pomfrey said. "Remember, you haven't regained much strength yet. And with a bit of practise you will get used to the crutches soon, you'll see."

Not only would he have to get used to being disabled, he would also need to get used to being a clumsy galoot, Snape thought grimly. He made one last hop before his vigour finally left him and he began to stagger. Kingsley's arm caught him, and he supported him back to the wheelchair.

"I wish to move back to my quarters – this very day," Snape said, exhausted but determined.

"I know," Madam Pomfrey answered with a smile. "I already gave the house elves the order to heat up your rooms. Kingsley will bring you downstairs whenever you wish to."

And Snape wished that as soon as possible. The nurse called for some house elves to bring down the Potions Master's personal belongings, and then she called for Filch to meet them in Snape's quarters afterwards. At first the Slytherin didn't quite understand why the presence of the caretaker would be necessary, but after realising that the wheelchair didn't fit through the bathroom door he comprehended. Under the supervision of Snape and Kingsley, Filch attached a couple of handholds and bars on selected spots, and then left them again. _Handicapped accessible_, Snape thought grimacing.

"Are you sure you can manage by yourself?" Kingsley asked concerned.

Snape nodded. "Thank you, Kingsley."

"Poppy will drop by later to look in on you," the Ravenclaw said before turning towards the door. "See you tomorrow."

When Madam Pomfrey finally entered Snape's flat after dinner, she found the Potions Master sitting in his armchair and reading in his new botanical compendium. She helped him with his hygiene and under the shower, and not until Snape at last felt the hot water wash over his back did he become aware of how much he had missed this in these last weeks of various cleaning spells and charms. Unusually even-tempered he allowed the nurse to help him into his nightshirt and tuck him in his bed, and as he finally closed his eyes he almost felt like everything was as before.

o

ooo

o

* * *

**A/N**: 

Concerning Snape's wand: I chose birch, because his birthday is in the period of birch, according to Celtic mythology. Also, I found the following line, which seems to fit well for Snape, as I imagine him: „_In early Celtic mythology, the birch came to symbolise renewal and purification."_

Concerning the crutches: I made them rather old-fashioned wooden ones, because I understood (from my researches) that in Anglo-Saxon area these kinds were used until not so long ago. Please correct me if I'm wrong on this (I will not change the chapter, though ;-)). I did a bit of research on this because here in Central Europe we use differently designed, metal ones. And since the wizarding community is still clinging on using quills and parchment instead of pens and paper, I assumed that these medical things would not be the latest fashion either ;-).

And my Severus drinks beer, yes. Because he is cool ;-). And I just cannot imagine him drinking pumpkin juice; forgive me. ;-)


	11. Feast

**Betas**: **Persephone Lupin** for the original version and **lucidity** for the translation. Without you both I'd be lost, really!

* * *

o

**Feast**

o

The first cheeky sunbeams, which glistened through the window of Snape's bedchamber, tickled his nose and coaxed him to reluctantly open his eyes. Indeed, he could have carried on sleeping another couple of minutes, he thought while observing the golden reflections upon the arched ceiling. The strange sensation he encountered every year at the start of term was increasingly superposed by something else this time, a feeling previously unknown to him. He had regretted the annual end of the holidays before, since he would not have enough spare time to follow his own research due to his teaching – but this morning he felt a weird kind of burning in his stomach area. He was _anxious_. His face grimaced in disgust as he realised that sensation. That was it then – he really was afraid of _children_. How pathetic…

Sighing, he pushed away the duvet, and at just that very moment a knock on the door to the anteroom became audible. Cursing inwardly he drew the blanket back up to his chest and thought of how to manage that particular precarious situation. Although – the only person who had announced a visit for this morning…

"Severus?" he heard Madam Pomfrey's voice after another – this time more resolute – knock.

Snape reached for his wand, which he had placed ready on the nightstand the previous evening. After sitting up cumbersomely in the bed he cast a quiet incantation, and a creaking noise told him of the door opening.

"Come in, Poppy," he growled somewhat acidly. "I do hope you won't be offended that I'm still in bed."

"Good morning, Severus," the healer smiled as she entered the room. "That's just what I'm here for – to lend you a hand. Did you sleep well?"

"Surprisingly enough…" the Potions Master frowned.

"It's much better in your own home, isn't it?" Madam Pomfrey said gently while helping him to sit at the edge of the bed. "Wheelchair or crutches?"

The Slytherin closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. _Such decisions at this unearthly hou_r, he thought sarcastically.

"Crutches…"

The handling of the bulky wooden things turned out as similarly unnerving as the previous day. With the help of Madam Pomfrey he managed more rough than ready to reach the bathroom, and brushing his teeth didn't take any further attentiveness, since his already wearied arm made his hand shake in the required frequency anyway. With decent patience the healer lent him a hand with his morning hygiene while he desperately thought if he would be able to at least manage his most basic needs by himself in the near future at all. After Madam Pomfrey helped him slip into a comfortable house-robe and sat him in his armchair she started massaging his limbs, which due to this short labour were already overstrained. Snape sighed quietly.

"It's the start of term today…" he started.

Madam Pomfrey looked up from her task. "…which doesn't need to concern you, Severus," she said while kneading his left upper leg. "The earliest time I'll release you for work again will be in three weeks. You still need time to regain strength and adapt to your changed living circumstances. I take it that you wouldn't want to teach in a wheelchair, would you?"

Snape flinched slightly. "No," he answered curtly. But the thought of the feast tonight and the seemingly umpteen stairs of the castle made his guts clench once again. Without giving in to some unrealistic illusions – tonight at least crutches were out of the question, he thought bitterly. Tonight the entire assembled pupils could gloat over his wheelchair and the fact that he was not even able to stand upright. The idea nearly caused him nausea.

"Moreover, it will do you good to recuperate and turn to your own interests for a while," Madam Pomfrey said gently from behind while tending to his shoulders with another healing charm. "I need some fresh healing potions from you anyway to fill up the hospital stocks."

…after he had energetically helped emptying those personally, the Slytherin thought grimacing.

"I'll set to work this very day," he said, while conjuring scenarios in his mind of how he could manage the required tasks in a sitting position. "We will want to be prepared for the victims of the first flying lesson after all, now won't we?"

Madam Pomfrey grinned and patted his shoulder. "No need to hurry, Severus, you've got three long weeks time. So…" she said, as she walked over to the fireplace. "What would you want for breakfast?"

o

After Snape had shared a light breakfast with the nurse, consisting of coffee, scones, jam and a vial of Invigoration Draught ("For the muscles, Severus!"), he politely but surely shooed her out to start the task of composing various lists of the needed potions and their ingredients. That invigorating brewage found its way under the category of "taste in need of amendment". Just after he had finished filling the second roll of parchment with an assortment of herbs, and was rummaging in his desk drawer for another bottle of ink, cursing silently, he heard a knock on the door. Snape recognised the soft, rhythmical knocking Dumbledore's and waved his wand to open the door.

"Severus," the Headmaster greeted him lightly. "It's nice to see you up."

"Good morning, Albus," Snape growled, just before he accioed a new inkbottle, which he finally discovered on the shelf behind him. "To what do I owe the privilege?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Since you obviously are yourself again, I'll spare you my enquiring about your condition."

"Thank you," answered the Slytherin. "Please take a seat, Albus. I'll be with you in a moment." Sighing quietly, he reached out for the crutches, which leaned against the edge of the desk.

At a dismissing wave from the Headmaster's hand his motions froze. "No, Severus, please don't trouble yourself. Most unfortunately I cannot linger anyway. You know what it's usually like at the start of term," he added sighing.

Snape nodded. "I take it that the students will arrive at the usual time?"

"Yes," the Headmaster answered. "And I'm pleased you want to show up at tonight's feast."

The Potions Master's face reflected just moderate enthusiasm. "It's my duty as Head of House, I assume, isn't it?"

"Above all, it's important for you to show yourself to the students of your house to give them support," Dumbledore answered. "The time ahead will be difficult for them."

Snape nodded sighing, and then grimaced. "Poppy told me about the vengeful actions against Slytherins."

"There were sporadic incidents, yes, but we must not allow that spark to jump across to our students," the old wizard answered. "The adults are war-weary, but the children apparently are not yet."

"I'm aware of that, Albus…"

A forceful knocking from the anteroom interrupted the two men's conversation. As many visitors in this one day he hadn't had the entire last year, Snape thought and curled a sarcastic lip.

"I'll see who it is, Severus," said Dumbledore. "Most regrettable, but I must leave you now anyway."

A few moments later the Headmaster was gone and Kingsley was standing on the doorstep, a tray in his hand, which he placed on the dining table.

"I thought I'd just bring down some lunch," he smiled at the Potions Master, "to spare you the trouble of getting upstairs to the Great Hall."

"Thank you Kingsley, that's very considerate of you," Snape answered. "I'm not very hungry."

"Come off it, Severus… The appetite comes with eating."

"Just why am I under the impression that it's my blessed grandmother speaking instead of you?" the Potions Master answered and arched an eyebrow.

Kingsley chuckled, while lending Snape an arm to help him stand up. After the Slytherin had settled down by the table and Kingsley stored away the crutches, Snape emitted a quiet sigh of frustration.

"Now, it's getting better each day, isn't it?" the Ravenclaw said, while taking the other chair at the table.

Snape emitted a low, bitter laugh. "The fact that I'm not even capable of standing up from my desk without help, I would not define as _better_."

"Severus," Kingsley said, his face growing serious. "What do you expect? Give yourself some time – soon you'll be completely yourself again, as before."

"Minus one leg."

The Ravenclaw bit his lower lip and looked into Snape's eyes. "What's really the matter, Severus? What's aggrieving you?"

_Perhaps that I am afraid of children? Afraid of a couple of blasted brats who not even reach up to my chest? If I would be able to stand upright, that is…_

The Slytherin withstood Kingsley's gaze without blinking. "Nothing," he retorted. "The food is getting cold."

Resigning, Kingsley sighed, and started to put the food onto the two plates in front of them.

o

* * *

o

Just another burden…, Snape sighed inwardly, while picking at his robe, which had shifted as he sat down in the wheelchair. He had spent the afternoon with reading and writing lists, and most of all with trying to tear his thoughts away from the upcoming welcome feast. The fact that even going to the bathroom had taken him half an eternity and cost him all his vigour didn't really help to lift his abysmal mood. And by the time Kingsley arrived shortly after sunset to pick him up and assist him with the final preparations, he nearly had snapped at him. He drew a deep breath as Kingsley gently squeezed his shoulder from behind.

"Let's go, shall we?" the Ravenclaw asked, an encouraging smile on his face.

Snape nodded and emitted a secret heartfelt groan. _So be it_, he thought.

Together they made their way up along the long staircases and corridors of the school, through which sporadic voices of children were already audible. Apparently the carriages had arrived just before. Snape mused about who had been accompanying the first years over the lake after Hagrid's demise, as he heard some all too familiar voices from just around the corner ahead. With a wave of his hand he signalled Kingsley to stop, which the Ravenclaw answered with a quizzical glance. Snape only slightly shook his head and listened, his brow knit together and eyes narrowed.

"…_could polish off a whole hippogriff!"_

"_Honestly Ron, can't you think of anything else other than food?"_

"_Ey Hermione, chocolate frogs don't last an entire day!"_

"_Regarding the loads you devoured it should at least last for another week. And if you hadn't dilly-dallied with that bunch of devoted girlfriends you obviously have, we could at least be in the Great Hall already."_

"_Now come on, Hermione…"_

"_I wonder about classes this year…"_

Snape's frown deepened as he recognised Potter's voice.

"_Yeah, the last year. Finally!"_

And finally the last chance to stuff some knowledge into your red skull, Weasley, the Slytherin thought.

_"I wasn't referring to that, Ron. I meant… well... a couple of teachers died…"_

"_Oh… yeah."_

"_Has anybody heard anything about Snape?"_

The Potions Master couldn't prevent flinching slightly at the mentioning of his name.

"_Nothing specific. I just overheard dad telling mum that he was injured during the last battle."_

"_Did he survive?"_

"_You can bet on that, Hermione, bad weeds grow tall."_

_"Harry's right. The greasy git could always arrange everything to his likings. He always slithered out of everything. That he didn't show up at your commendation, Harry, that was pretty low!"_

_"Perhaps he's still in mourning for his old master…"_

Kingsley's hand grabbed Snape's shoulder, as if he wanted to prevent the Slytherin from jumping out of the wheelchair. Snape's heart pounded up to his throat and he breathed heavily, as he desperately worked on keeping his emotions in check. Would it have been possible, he would have reduced these impossible brats down to such small piles that they would have regretted ever being born. Yet, he just closed his eyes in bitterness and lowered his head.

"P… P… Professor… Snape!"

"You… _Merlin_!"

The Potions Master raised his gaze and fixated three pairs of shock-widened Gryffindor-eyes, his expression frozen and eyes narrowed dangerously. Anxious seconds passed until the three students' gazes broke free and like in slow motion passed down Snape's body. As they finally reached the non-existent limb, and stared at the lump through which the remains of it defined itself under his robe with mouths agape, Snape's stomach nearly churned out of rage and shame.

"At the time of your commendation, Mister Potter, it seems I was _indisposed_," he hissed in the most dangerous tone he could accomplish. "And now get out of my sight."

The trio didn't move and kept standing as if frozen, while their trembling lips obviously, yet unsuccessfully, tried to stutter out words of apology.

"Didn't you understand?" Snape asked, his icy voice now reduced to a barely audible breath. "You are able to _walk_, aren't you?"

A jerk went through the three students; they closed their mouths, turned on their heels and fled around the corner out of sight. Time seemed to stand still as the Potions Master slowly lifted his arms and buried the face in his hands.

"Merlin…" he whispered.

He felt Kingsley's hand on his shoulder. "Severus…"

"No, Kingsley," Snape interrupted and raised an averting hand. "Please spare me – I know what you are going to say. Let's get to the Great Hall, because if we run into Longbottom too now, I cannot guarantee my actions."

Finally they reached the Great Hall, out of which the joyful laughter of children's voices was audible. Kingsley pushed the wheelchair across the threshold of the big entrance door, and within seconds even the last pair of eyes rested upon the Potions Professor and the new teacher. The conversations died out, after some moments of appalled silence to make room for sporadic restrained whispering and murmuring. With a frozen and exerted unreadable expression plastered onto his face, Snape let his gaze wander along the rows of students. Obviously his fate definitely hadn't been made public, since the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws altogether stared at him uncomprehendingly. To the Gryffindor table, however, the news apparently had found its way, as the faces of the students showed less astonishment and rather more embarrassment.

"Professor Snape," he heard from his left and shifted his gaze to the table of his own house. The faces of his Slytherins displayed the inner brokenness of his house; some of the students lowered their heads in distress, while the expression of others showed blank horror. Draco Malfoy was the one who had spoken, his chest showing the golden badge of the Head Boy. Snape narrowed his eyes and nodded a greeting towards his students. It would definitely take some time until the occurrences of recent years would finally be overcome. Not only that Slytherin was the pariah among the school's houses, the house itself was divided into culprits and victims at that.

"Professor Snape, Professor Shacklebolt!"

The Headmaster's voice pulled Snape out of his thoughts. Dumbledore approached them and accompanied them to the table, where Kingsley placed the wheelchair at the designated position and took the chair besides the Potions Master. As Snape breathed a quiet sigh of relief, Kingsley gave him an encouraging smile.

"So now they know," he said in a low tone, "and you weathered it, for now."

"Hm," Snape emitted, while he nodded at his colleagues on either side in silent greeting. Those of which saw him again for the first time tonight obviously put greatest efforts in showing a more or less sheepish smile on their faces. Almost automatically a sneer graced Snape's face as he realised his colleagues' tentativeness.

After Minerva McGonagall had entered the Hall – a group of anxious looking first years on her coat-tails – the Sorting Hat started singing his annual song for the beginning of the new school year. While the Hat sang about _restarting_ and _sticking together_, Snape let his gaze wander over the assembled pupils. Some of them were watching him covertly, just to lower their glances at his frown like guilty delinquents. Harry Potter, however, resisted his glare, and Snape noticed that the boy didn't look him in the eyes, but at a spot on his …forehead. A smirk sneaked up on the face of the Potions Master, as he realised the irony of the situation, and Potter returned the smile. Now they were as well marked as equal. Interesting…

The newly sorted Slytherin first years were much fewer than the years before, which prompted the Gryffindor Head of House to wink knowingly at Snape as she carried the Sorting Hat away. When the Headmaster finally rose for his yearly speech, the murmuring in the Hall ebbed away and all eyes found their way to the teacher's table.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore greeted the professors and pupils alike. "As the Sorting Hat already pointed out, and as you all know already anyway – this year is different from the ones before. We celebrated a great victory…"

A wave of joyful jubilation interrupted the Headmaster's speech, the noisiest centre of which at the Gryffindor table, where the students nearly tumbled at showing their gratitude with hugging and backslapping Harry Potter.

"However…" Dumbledore raised his hand and tried to drown out the ruckus, which only slowly died out again. "However – as great this victory is, there were some bitter moments to it as well, and some of us have suffered great personal losses," he added solemnly, and Snape couldn't avert a shadow briefly passing over his face.

"The Hogwarts teaching staff has been affected by these losses as well," Dumbledore continued, "and you will all notice the changes in our midst. In deep sorrow I have to announce the demise of our professors Flitwick and Hagrid. New Head of Ravenclaw House will be Professor Vector from now on, and Hagrid's field of responsibility will be taken over by Professor Grubbly-Plank. As new professor for Charms I may introduce a new face in our middle – the renowned Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt!" He turned to Kingsley who rose and faced the rather restrained applause.

"The curriculum of Defence Against the Dark Arts is currently being revised, and therefore will be suspended until further notice," Dumbledore continued, and then turned to Snape whose frown deepened even more. "Professor Snape has been wounded in battle and is still convalescent at present. Potions classes will be taken over by Madam Sprout until Professor Snape again will be able to teach."

The Headmaster's further speech was barely registered by Snape and the students alike, who now cast him secret glances and obviously tried hard to not show their telltale expressions all too openly.

However, the appearing food finally made sure that universal attention was drawn to the feast, and nobody noticed the Potions Master dropping his mask for a brief moment, as he closed his eyes, breathing heavily.

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**A/N**: I know that the children appear a bit "bad" in this chapter, but actually this was not my intention. I just imagined these situations when you say something out of impulse and without thinking – and that you sometimes unintentionally hurt people with that. Especially if said people already feel insecure or labile in the first place. And I guess, this situation here was very special anyway. 


	12. Bergamot

Big thanks go to **Persephone Lupin** and **Lucidity**, as always:-)

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**Bergamot**

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"Poppy, it _hurts_!"

Snape was sitting on the edge of the bed, his right hand cramped into the cotton fabric of his nightshirt – as if he wanted to pull it up to visually corroborate the inconsistency of sensing pain in a non-existent limb. After holing up in his chambers for two full days after the welcome feast, with not even Kingsley or Madam Pomfrey being able to persuade him to show up in public for an occasional meal at the least, he woke today feeling pain – in his right leg! _How could something hurt that is no longer there? Was he going insane after all?_

"There is nothing to examine any longer, Poppy," he hissed, as Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand. The Healer cast him a glance that made him hush.

"You suffer from phantom pain," she observed thoughtfully.

Snape furrowed his brow. "Phantom pain…?" He couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that this witch was putting him on. "Now, how would that be possible? According to my humble medical knowledge one needs nerves, at least, to feel pain…" Exasperated, his hand reached for the stump. "…and there are no nerves. There is not even a leg any longer!"

"Severus," Madam Pomfrey attempted an explanation, while the face of the Potions Master reflected a mixture of anger and frustration. "Phantom pain is hardly comparable with usual forms of pain. Your brain is playing a trick on you…"

"I am not just imagining this!" the unnerved Slytherin interrupted the nurse and glared at her.

"No, I haven't said that," Madam Pomfrey tried to calm him. "Not even in Muggle medicine has phantom pain been entirely researched yet – not to mention our magical healing, where there is hardly ever necessary the final resort of an amputation. I talked to Mr. Moody about it once, and he confided to me that he suffered from it too early on after his loss."

Snape's intestines clenched slightly. "Is there anything possible to do for it?" he asked curtly, yet calmer than before.

"According to Mr. Moody, the pain will wear away after some time," Madam Pomfrey answered. "We will try with massages, and it's important for you to keep the stump warm for better circulation. In the meantime I'll give you a light pain killer."

The Slytherin pressed his lips together. Slowly but surely he was getting fed up with all these healing concoctions, he thought.

"However – there seem to be certain circumstances that trigger phantom pain," the healer carried on, her voice serious. "Particular weather conditions, for example – or emotional stress…"

_Now _that_ was news to him_, Snape frowned. _Emotional stress… Ha!_

Madam Pomfrey rummaged in her bag and produced a vial which she handed to Snape. "Here you are, Severus… This should ease the pain for now."

Reluctantly the Slytherin reached out for the potion while Madam Pomfrey eyed him pensively. Then she cleared her throat.

"What's the matter, Severus?" she asked cautiously. "I have known you for years – _decades_, actually – and I would be downright dumb and blind not to notice that something is bothering you."

Snape's features hardened. "It's nothing," he hissed – somewhat fiercer than intended.

"Don't try to fool me," Madam Pomfrey retorted. "I'm aware that you are anything but the social type of person, but if Kingsley or I cannot even _drag_ you out of your rooms in two days – that's unusual even for you."

Not in his wildest dreams would he tell this witch that he was effectively evading a pack of adolescents, Snape thought and unintentionally lowered his head.

"Kingsley told me of your run-in with Mr. Potter and his friends…"

A hissing draw of breath escaped the Slytherin before he could avert it. _So much for self-control_, he thought bitterly. He could not even save face anymore when there was the need to.

"So that's it…" the healer said quietly. "I thought of something like that – and Kingsley as well."

Snape's head snapped up and he glared at Madam Pomfrey. Yet she ignored his gaze.

"Kingsley told me what happened," she said. "Severus, don't let this drag you down to such an extent! Nobody knew what had happened to you, and the students were just swamped with the situation – as well as you have been."

The Slytherin pressed his lips together and lowered his head. "They are gaping… and arguably just gossiping about me this very minute..."

"…and that's so hard to understand for you?" Madam Pomfrey interrupted him. "Honestly Severus, what do you expect? The students have to get used to these …_circumstances_ as well. They were surprised, probably shocked – and I'm sure they didn't mean to hurt you," she added.

"A notion which I question vehemently…"

"Nonsense," answered Madam Pomfrey, shaking her head aversely. "Anyway, it doesn't help in the least if you barricade yourself in here and wallow in self-pity."

"I don't wallow in self-pity!" Snape spat angrily.

"Yes, you do," the nurse pointed out, but with sympathy in her voice. "You must not let yourself go, Severus, your life goes on as well. And do grant your environment a chance to adapt to the situation as well – don't forget that a case like yours is very rare in our world. Needless to say that a certain amount of _gaping_ was to be expected..."

_Especially if it concerned the most hated professor of the school_, Snape thought and curled a bitter lip. "Hm," he growled undecidedly, while a feeble voice in the very back of his head secretly gave in to the healer's tirade.

"Nobody wants to do you any harm, Severus…"

Now, that was something he definitely doubted, the Potions Master thought cynically.

"Pomona asked for you yesterday evening," Madam Pomfrey gently shifted the topic of the conversation.

Snape narrowed his eyes. Apparently there had been the first cauldron-explosion already in the first two days, he thought sneering. "What did she want?"

"She asked me to tell you that one of her bergamot trees already has grown two fruits," the nurse answered. "However, she would advise you to pick them as soon as possible, since she cannot guarantee that there will be another harvest soon. She said the fruits were early, as the regular harvest time would not be before November."

The Slytherin nodded. "I'll see to it. Thank you, Poppy."

_No cauldron-meltings then_, Snape thought almost regretfully, while Madam Pomfrey retrieved his clothes and then started to help him get dressed.

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After the nurse attended her already familiar morning routine and then left Snape again, the Slytherin spent most of the morning catching up with the research on his planned projects. Somewhat contented he registered that his walking attempts with crutches became increasingly practised, and after he managed to repeatedly sit and stand up from his chair he sent for a house elf to make an appointment with Madam Sprout for the afternoon – regarding the harvesting of the bergamot fruits.

Kingsley had announced he would come over for lunch, and thus the Potions Master wanted to see some of the work done before – on the one hand to get it out of his head and on the other hand to distract his thoughts from Madam Pomfrey's matutinal wigging. The reproach and the following reluctant realisation that he was indeed wallowing in self-pity were increasingly nagging on Snape's pride.

Just as he slowly hobbled over to a closet in the depths of which he suspected a particular and rarely used collection of essays regarding the topic of "Mediterranean citrus fruits and their practical usage in potion making" there was a knock on his door. Snape nodded in relief. He was not at all unhappy about Kingsley's obviously early arrival, since he noticed that he apparently once again had expected too much of his still weak body. His leg trembled and his shoulders hurt as he cumbersomely fumbled for the wand in his pocket.

"Come in, Kingsley," he said as he heard the door to the anteroom spring open. _Not a single minute too soon_, he thought, while turning around to head for the table, his movements increasingly laboured.

"Professor Snape…" he heard a sheepish voice, which sounded suspiciously …_not_ like Kingsley's! A rush of adrenaline passed through his body as he slowly turned around, discovering the infernal trio standing on his doorstep.

"What do you want here?" the Potions Master forced his voice into the usual silky quality, after he had swallowed the first shock and anger over his own carelessness. The muscles in his leg burned and his joints ached, and between him and the longed for chair stood three blasted Gryffindors who nervously raked holes in his carpet. _Marvellous_.

"I am listening…?" he prompted, his voice dangerously low.

"Professor Snape…" Harry began once more, while Snape glared at him through narrowed eyes. "Please excuse the intrusion…" he stuttered.

"Potter…" Snape growled impatiently. The chair seemed to move far into the distance. "If you have something to tell me, do so. Otherwise leave my rooms, as I am really not in the mood for idle chit-chat."

Raising his chin, the student cleared his throat. "We came to apologise for our behaviour, Professor Snape," he said, while Ron and Hermione behind him nodded. "We didn't mean to hurt you… and we're sorry."

The Potions Master arched an eyebrow. "Who sent you?" he sneered.

"Nobody…" Harry answered confused. "– Professor," he added quickly.

"We were sent by no one, Professor," repeated Hermione. "Should there have been anybody sending us?"

Leaning heavily on his crutches, Snape shook his head and raised an averting hand. "No," he snapped. "Anything else? Yes, Mr. Weasley?" he asked while trying to ignore the tiny beads of sweat that started to appear on his forehead. It was written all over the tall and lanky redhead's face that he wanted to say something. And the quicker he would do this, the quicker Snape could throw the brats out of his rooms again.

"How… how are you, Professor Snape?" said Ron, his face glowing so red that not even a single freckle was visible anymore.

For a short moment Snape thought he couldn't trust his ears anymore. "Mr. Weasley…" he started in a dangerous tone, but the sarcastic smile which started to play around his lips died away again. He felt so tired. The fact that these three chose _this_ of all moments to placard their apparently newly awakened sympathy seemed to him almost like another cynical twist of fate.

"Under the circumstances, Mr. Weasley," he answered in forced calmness. "Your apology is accepted. Please leave now."

As fast as the three Gryffindor's paces died away the longed for chair drew closer again – and as Snape finally slowly lowered himself onto it he emitted a sigh of relief. _They are sorry_, he thought, shaking his head, while the nurse's sermon again echoed in his ears. "Hm," he emitted pensively, while he started to knead his still far too lean upper leg.

At lunch with Kingsley, who arrived just shortly after the students' departure, the Potions Master chose to mention their visit only casually. His friend too seemed to refrain from going deeper into the subject and just answered the story with a knowing smile. Instead, they emerged in a light conversation about Kingsley's first classes.

"This morning I had the Hufflepuff first-years," the Ravenclaw said cheerfully, while loading another portion of food onto his plate. "We practised wand movements – cute, I tell you! It's hard to believe that we were that small as well once. And they are so studious and eager to learn – Pomona will be happy about her house's new students," he added.

"That happiness is going to last exactly until she confronts them with the first potions recipe."

"Oh, you are one diehard cynic, Severus," Kingsley grinned, shaking his head.

The Potions Master smirked. "Well, we'll see when Pomona announces the first melting of a cauldron. The bets are open."

"I didn't know that you are into betting, Severus."

"I am not," Snape answered dryly and pushed the emptied plate aside.

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After Kingsley left for his afternoon classes, Snape granted himself a short break and – somewhat grudgingly – a strengthening potion, because he planned a detour to his office prior to his appointment with Madam Sprout. Luckily, his office and private workroom was next to the potions classroom, which was located not far from his chambers on the same floor.

A corner of his mouth twitched, as Snape stored the lab's inventory list in the inner pocket of his robe, and then reached for the crutches. At least it was to be expected that the dungeon corridors would be relatively empty at this time of afternoon, he thought, as he turned to the entrance and – after taking a deep draw of breath – opened the door. A wave of familiar smelling air welcomed him, as he stepped over the threshold and closed the door silently. No sound was audible in the corridor, and after a nod of satisfaction Snape started his way towards his office.

_Clunk… Clunk… Clunk…_

Unnerved, the Potions Master paused and glared down at the wooden crutches, which rendered his once catlike-stealthy motions into trolls' stamping. Narrowing his eyes, he drew his wand.

"_Absorbe Sonitum_," he mumbled, and while a shimmer of light embraced the bottom parts of the crutches and slowly infiltrated the wood, his expression changed into a smirk. Even if he could not regain the former grace of his movements – the trampling would at least no longer be _audible_.

Slowly but steadily Snape hobbled his way towards his office, which was just another corner of the corridor away. Satisfied over his now silent locomotion he contemplated the list of potions the amendment of which could be attempted using bergamot oil or essence. He rounded the corner and suddenly collided full-impact with something very _small_, which challenged his balance so dangerously that only an sudden clawing for a projection on the wall kept him from falling. With a loud rattle one of the crutches fell to the floor, and he panted in shock while he supported himself on the wall with a cramped hand. His gaze fell onto a student, who looked up to him, her eyes and mouth agape in horror.

"I… I'm s… sorry!" the child stuttered, trembling over her entire body. Snape recognised her as a Ravenclaw, apparently a first-year. "Please… I'm sorry," she repeated squeakingly.

Snape's body quivered in shock and the strain of holding on to the projection. Breathing heavily he glared at the girl through narrowed eyes. "Shouldn't you be in class?" he asked intimidatingly, while his gaze wandered over to the crutch on the ground. Desperately he wondered how in Merlin's name he could reach it before his strength would leave him. His wand was in his pocket, but if he let go of the wall…

"I… I needed to go to the toilet, Sir." The girl made a face as if she would faint any moment.

"Give me the crutch," the Slytherin hissed.

As if in slow motion the trembling child bowed down and took the crutch, while Snape's forehead slowly became damp with perspiration. Reluctantly, the girl held out her hand to hand over the crutch to the professor, her eyes downcast in fear under his piercing glare.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she repeated once more, while Snape – more than relieved inwardly – cautiously reached out for the support and placed it under his right armpit again.

"Should you ever annoy me again you will feel sorry indeed, Miss…"

"…_Davitt_, Professor," the child answered contritely.

"Well, Miss Davitt," Snape said. "I suggest you go to the toilet and out of my sight – instantly."

"Yes, Professor Snape," the girl whispered and hurried away, not daring to look back.

The Potions Master sighed silently and leaned heavily onto the crutches, drawing a couple of deep breaths. If the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters hadn't managed to make him meet his end – these insufferable brats would for sure one day, he thought, and then slowly continued his way to his near office.

After entering the dark room, he first opened a window to get rid of the biting stench, which had slapped him in his face the moment he had opened the door. One of the potions ingredients must have gone bad in the long time of his absence, he thought slightly annoyed. His trained nose identified the culprit in an instant – a pickled Kappa kidney, the hermetic sealing of which seemed to have become defective. With a wink of his wand he vanished the malodorous thing and somewhat awkwardly waved his hand in the air, hoping to get rid of the bad smell. He then sat at the desk and started to summon various preserving jars and other containers to check their contents. Through the door to the adjacent classroom low murmuring and sporadic noises were audible. _It's suspiciously quiet_, the Potions Master thought, and then continued concentrating on his inventory. After jar number 76 (ginseng root in spirit) a loud bang startled him and immediately placed a sneer onto his face. Pandemonium emerged on the other side of the door. _Well, there you go…_

After an hour of work and the cataloguing of 189 objects Snape's inventory was completed, and he contently scanned the list one last time. The change in noise level on the other side of the door told him that also the potions class seemed to be over, and so he rose cumbersomely to walk over to meet Madam Sprout.

He waited for the students' gabbling to subside and then opened the door. Madam Sprout was just picking up her notes as she saw him entering.

"Ah, Severus! How nice to see you!"

"Pomona," Snape answered her greeting blandly. "How did your class go? Any problems?" he asked with innocent expression.

"Nothing worth mentioning," Madam Sprout answered. "Just the usual minor incidents."

_And an explosion_, the Potions Master thought.

"However, I need to get some fresh cilantro leaves," the Hufflepuff chuckled. "One of my students made a mistake in quantity, with a bad result for his cauldron."

"It did not escape me. Seems to have been a rather _strong_ pottage."

"Ah, that's not really a problem," Madam Sprout laughed. "Cauldrons can be replaced."

Together they set off, and the elderly witch patiently strolled alongside Snape.

"How are you lately, Severus?" she asked sympathetically. "It appears that walking with the crutches is working out more and more – isn't it?"

"Well – one _practises_," Snape answered and grimaced. "And Poppy is giving her best as well."

_Yet, for that not even Poppy could do anything_, Snape thought as they reached a staircase which appeared to lose itself in seemingly never-ending heights. Madam Sprout seemed to realise the problem as she lightly placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Slowly, Severus," she said gently. "We are in no hurry."

And slowly indeed they climbed the stairs, step by step, and as they finally reached the top Snape breathed a restrained sigh of relief. Fortunately the exit to the greenhouses was not far and the rest of the way even.

"There are two nice big fruits," Madam Sprout said as she opened the door to the greenhouse. They stepped over the threshold and immersed in the warm and humid air that smelled of earth and plants. Every now and then Snape almost begrudged the herbology teacher these pleasant working conditions – particularly in wintertime.

"The bergamot trees are in the back on the left side," Madam Sprout said and pointed at the direction. "In the meantime I'll get the cilantro."

Snape slowly hobbled to the back of the greenhouse, cautiously evading some of the more fragile plants that grew into the narrow pathway. The fruits on the tree were in fact ripe, as he realised after applying a light thumb pressure. He picked the first one and weighed it in his hand. _And rather big at that_, he thought. Too big, actually, as the fruit didn't fit in the pocket of his robe. And since his hands were already bound to another usage… After a moment of consideration he drew his wand and bewitched the fruits to hover along behind his back.

"I hope you are aware that this looks a bit weird, Severus?" Madam Sprout grinned as Snape returned to her, the two bergamot fruits hovering up and down in the air behind him.

Snape arched an eyebrow. "A potions professor with some hovering ingredients? Why?"

The Hufflepuff laughed and took the basket full of cilantro leaves. "Let's go, Severus," she chuckled. "The air in here doesn't seem to do you good – it makes you unusually humorous."

"Hm," the Slytherin growled. _Humorous_... The first student who dared to laugh was going to regret it deeply, he thought, while he stepped out of the greenhouse and put on a frown.

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**A/N:**

_absorbere_: to absorb (you would have guessed, wouldn't you? ;-))

_sonitus_: noise

Please review:-)


	13. Ambivalence

My sincere thanks go –as always– to **Persephone Lupin** for having betaed the original version and to **lucidity** for correcting my English translation. You are the best!

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**Ambivalence**

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The following days were marked by Snape complying with the task of brewing the potions Madam Pomfrey had asked for, to refill the stocks of the hospital wing with the most essential at least. The matutinal efforts by the healer finally showed success, and while Snape's body slowly regained his former strength, his handling of the crutches became increasingly practised. His motivation to appear in public was still relatively limited, though, but Kingsley eventually persuaded him to at least show up for lunch in the Great Hall from time to time. And after the fourth day in a row of hobbling across the entire hall towards the teachers' table – a stoic expression plastered onto his face – he realised that the curious gazes in his direction and the accompanying whisperings grew fewer and fewer, finally ebbing to the level his appearance usually caused.

Slightly lost in thought the Potions Master reached for a knife and started to cut the already sliced bergamot paring it into tiny cubes. Such seemingly cumbersome work might annoy or bore other people – he on the other hand perceived it as particularly soothing for his nerves and mind. Most potions ingredients must be handled without using magic, because they would lose their effect otherwise, and he enjoyed the manual labour, which he usually carried out in self-inflicted solitude. While the low music of Ravel's Bolero was sounding in the background, his long fingers swiftly shoved the tiny cubes into a little pile, and then flipped them into a little cauldron standing over a small flame. _Prelude to a new creation_, he thought, and a satisfied smile played around his thin lips.

The Potions Master leaned back to reach for his wand which he had placed ready on the table behind him. A couple of days ago he had ranted that he couldn't possibly work efficiently when he was constrained to continuously clutch a pair of crutches, and so Kingsley – without further ado – transformed a chair into a comfortable standing aid on wheels. _How come he had never thought of this practical idea himself_, Snape thought while bewitching the spoon to start stirring the liquid in the pot in slow circles. He rolled a bit to the side and picked up the second bergamot fruit to peel it and prepare the paring for further processing.

The little cauldron bubbled gently, and the fruity fragrance its contents emitted finally reminded Snape of the fact that he might not want to miss lunch. Not that he couldn't get some food from the kitchens served later, but he appreciated his habitual noontime conversations with Kingsley and didn't want to make him wait in vain. After he had made sure that the security charms on the fire and cauldron remained stable, and that the spoon would carry on stirring without his supervision, he reached for the crutches and rose to start his way up to the Great Hall.

Sighing quietly he cumbersomely ascended the stairs to the ground floor. He was definitely grateful for the fact that the classes hadn't ended yet, and he thus at least was spared curious eyes as he finally hung over the crutches at the top of the staircase – utterly exhausted and panting like a niffler on its last legs. Two days ago in the face of this slightly unsettling dilemma he even tried a levitating charm onto himself in an unwatched moment, with the result that he lost balance and had to summon his entire bodily control to not fall back down the staircase. So he wouldn't be spared this constant toughening exercise after all. Well, he despised flying and similar hullabaloo anyway.

Ear-splitting noisiness from one of the classrooms made him stop on his way. The Slytherin frowned in disapproval over the hubbub on the other side of the door. Obviously these students were without supervision and were going haywire, he thought slightly annoyed, while his hand approached the doorknob.

Pandemonium emerged before Snape's eyes as he opened the door. He cast a disbelieving glance inside the classroom and flinched back involuntarily, when a little red sofa cushion passed by his face, missing the tip of his nose only by a hairsbreadth. The air seemed to be full of flying and floating cushions and pillows in all bright colours imaginable.

"What, by the name of Merlin, is going on here?"

The sharpness of his voice guaranteed the immediate and full attention of the students, the noise ebbed away, and the floating objects stopped in midair, to one by one slowly drop to the ground.

"What…? Ah, Professor Snape!"

Kingsley was standing in the corner in the back of the room, a small green cushion in his hand and in front of him a small boy with his wand drawn. "Please sit down, students. You as well, Kilian," he said to the small boy, who immediately took off to find his seat along with his classmates.

"Professor Snape," Kingsley said amicably and approached the Potions Master, who still stood in the doorway, slightly taken by surprise. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I was under the apparently mistaken impression that these students were without supervision," Snape answered silkily while he inwardly feverishly searched for a loophole out of this embarrassing situation. "The ruckus was audible across the entire corridor," he added.

"Ah... yes", Kingsley nodded. "My second-years were so well-behaved today, I approved of a bit of fun to reward them. And a brush up on levitating charms was in order anyway," he added. "Wasn't it, children?"

Given the facial expression of the Potions Master, whose idea on subject repetition was a completely different one, only a couple of exceedingly brave students dared to nod. Fortunately, and not only to Snape's relief, the bell rang to announce the end of the lesson.

"No, my ways of teaching are not open for discussion," Kingsley said quietly and with a warning undertone in his voice, while he finally closed the classroom door after he and Snape had stepped out on the corridor. It was obvious that the Slytherin had held back a snide remark to let it roll off his tongue since the minute the last student had slipped out of the door. "However, it's good to see that you're feeling back on track it seems", he added with a wink, as they started their way towards the Great Hall.

Snape curled a lip. "It seemed the right opportunity," he answered airily as they parted the crowds of students heading for lunch.

"_You bloody…!"_

"_Ouch! Leave me alone!"_

"_Aaaaaahh!"_

"_You wait!"_

"What's going on there?" Snape asked looking at the clamour from the far end of the corridor. The tall Ravenclaw craned his neck.

"There seems to be a fight," he noted. "Right up there." The former Auror quickened his pace towards the noise where already a group of curious students had assembled. Snape tried cumbersomely to keep up with him while the crowd parted before them, opening the view on two figures rolling on the floor. A couple of particularly daring students even egged the rowdies on. Kingsley drew his wand without further ado and after a short wink the two found themselves sitting on the floor, panting. Snape recognised them as Slytherins and narrowed his eyes.

"Five points from Gryffindor for encouraging them," he said silkily while fixing the cheeky pupils with a glare that made them hush. "And another five from Ravenclaw for the same misdoing," he added, ignoring the somewhat indignant glance from Kingsley.

"Stand up and follow me," he hissed, annoyed over the fact that he had found students from his house scuffling like street urchins. The delinquents exchanged angry glares and followed their Head of House, who showed them into the nearest empty classroom with a brief tilt of his head.

"Well," said Snape, after he had motioned them to close the door and then hobbled over to support himself against the nearest desk. "What was that supposed to be, gentlemen?"

The two of them stood before him, their posture still fierce and ready to strike. Watching them, Snape found it hard to keep up the appropriate stern expression. He had identified the reason for the brawl in an instant – at the very moment when Kingsley had separated them. One's parents were Death Eaters and now in Azkaban, while the other was an offspring of a more liberal thinking family. Snape sighed inwardly. It would take generations for some wounds to heal.

"Waste your surplus energies on the other houses next time," he said sternly. "And now go to lunch."

The students obeyed without another motion and Snape waited for them to leave the room. As he stepped out of the door, Kingsley was awaiting him in the corridor.

"And?" the Ravenclaw asked with an arched eyebrow while closing the door.

"A situation that is to be expected," the Potions Master answered. "One is the son of a convicted Death Eater…"

"…who now is the target of revenge," Kingsley assessed.

"Albus was right," the Slytherin sighed. "That's a problem not easily solved."

While they continued their way towards the Great Hall Kingsley nodded. "I'm afraid the problem isn't to be solved at all – not while the wounds are still bleeding, that is. There was a similar situation in my first class today, between two Slytherin girls."

"These are not going to be isolated cases," said Snape, while they slowly followed the corridor, where only a few stragglers overtook them on their way for lunch. The situation his house was in and his own powerlessness in that hurt him inwardly.

"As far as I can remember my own schooldays it was particularly the Slytherins who stuck together."

A corner of Snape's mouth curled into a sarcastic smile. "Which seems to be a necessity here. There are three other houses regarding Slytherins as their enemies, after all."

"A circumstance that isn't handled exactly _diplomatically_ by your house every time, is it?" Kingsley mentioned with a smile. "However, this unity seems to be seriously broken now."

_How right you are_, Snape thought nodding. "Especially now that this solidarity would be so badly needed," he sighed.

"Well, you are their Head of House – can't you just do something about it?"

Snape emitted a bitter bark of laughter. "You imagine this problem far too starry-eyed, Kingsley. When you are reared by your family into a certain direction it's not so easy to get rid of all this. All these painful realisations come much later – believe me, I'm talking from my own experiences."

Kingsley graced him with a pensive side glance, while the Slytherin pressed his lips together and glared at the slabs on the floor which slowly passed by under his unsteady steps.

Snape sighed. "They arguably wouldn't even obey me on this. On the contrary – I daresay that the students from Death Eater families now blame everybody else for having lost their parents. The question of culprits and victims is a somewhat ambivalent one here," he added quietly. _All aside from the fact that it might prove difficult for a former Death Eater to get them to listen to him at all_, he thought bitterly, while they entered the Great Hall, where general ingestion had begun.

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_"Ravel's Bolero": _the "Boléro" by Maurice Ravel is one of my favourite pieces of classical music. I found the "emerging and growing" style of this song very suitable for the creation of a potion, and I somehow could definitely picture Snape listening to the Boléro while brewing.  



	14. Mishap

**­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­A/N:** Thank you so much for all your support, your reviews make me very happy!

I feel VERY guilty, because I kept you waiting for so long. I'm awfully busy at university currently and I had to cut down everything concerning fanfiction to the absolute minimum. Please forgive me as I'm currently not reading any stories and also cannot continue with my new fic. I will try to at least finish the translation of this story as soon as possible (there are only two chapters left anyway ;-)), and I hope to get back to my ff-activities soon too. For now, my apologies :-(

Something I forgot to mention with the last chapter (if you can even remember it ;-)) – the idea that potions ingredients have to be cut manually because otherwise they would lose their magical capacity came from the wonderful fic "Grasping at Normality" by Kaz814. It's a HG/SS-fic and as such the only one of its kind I ever truly and fully enjoyed. It's in my favourite stories and I recommend it, certainly ;-).

Betaed by the most wonderful **Persephone Lupin** and **Ermione** for the original story, and lovely **lucidity** for the translation. Thank you very much!

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o

**Mishap**

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**

"This is going to burn a bit, Severus," said Madam Pomfrey, while tilting a small bottle and dribbling a couple of drops onto a piece of gauze. Snape frowned at her as he tried not to flinch when the cooling substance made contact with the back of his hand.

The Potions Master was annoyed with himself and his clumsiness. _Just like the most oafish first-year_, he thought fuming – another action like this and he could queue up right beside Longbottom on the spot. He emitted a soft snort while the mediwitch took care of the deeply red wound on his hand.

"How did it happen?" Madam Pomfrey asked, looking up.

"I got scalded," Snape snapped.

"Indeed…" There was a hint of sarcasm in the healer's voice. "And I reckoned you made a mistake with your morning hand lotion."

"Poppy, _please_…" the Slytherin growled warningly.

"I'm sorry, Severus," answered Madam Pomfrey pacifyingly. "I just want to find out if this is your only injury. It's always a bit suspicious if you are so short-spoken when it comes to your health."

"There's nothing else, I just burned my hand," Snape said, pointing at a small, innocent looking cauldron which was standing on the table, "when this cauldron canted over and I was trying to save the potion within."

"_Canted over_?" The healer raised an eyebrow. "Severus, you need to be more careful. Don't forget…"

"I am careful as ever," hissed Snape. "It's just that there are a couple of recent bodily obstacles which I don't take in account automatically when quick action is necessary."

"Never mind," soothed Madam Pomfrey, while she covered the scald with a light bandage. "The main thing is that nothing worse happened, isn't it? The episode could have turned out far worse."

_Nothing worse_…, the Slytherin thought with clenched teeth. As if the fact that he managed to disperse his work evenly on the dungeon floor would not be worse enough…

ooo

Ironically enough, the day had started quite harmonically. After Madam Pomfrey's regular morning visit Snape had turned back to his work and started to conduct experiments with the already viscously cooked Bergamot decoction. Maybe this morning he had worked too automatically, since his experienced moves ever and anon gave his thoughts room to wander – towards the memorial service which was scheduled this evening. He dribbled a couple of drops of the Bergamot essence into a softly simmering cauldron which was placed on the table in front of him and then rolled a bit aside on his standing aid to carry on with the accompanying notes.

The familiar sizzling noise of an overboiling cauldron made him startle abruptly, and as he turned around his precious concoction already spread out over half of the working table. In a jerky move he tried to reach for his wand, while instinctively grabbing the cauldron, which already vibrated dangerously, with his other hand. That the latter proved to be an exceptionally stupid action he eventually realised when the boiling hot fluid poured over his hand. With a scream he flinched and knocked over the cauldron which fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Paralysed from pain and shock the Potions Master bewilderedly watched the result of several days' work slowly spread into the gaps of the dungeon's stone floor.

A fierce curse escaped him when his gaze fell onto his hand, on the back of which the first signs of a nasty blister became visible. He flicked his wand to vanish the spilled potion and to levitate the cauldron back on the table. Another wink made cold water appear within in which he dipped his aching hand. A shiver spread over his back, he closed his eyes and sighed softly. At incidents like this he was almost grateful of his habit of usually working alone.

After the burning had slightly subsided, Snape was forced to realise that even if his first aid kit contained all kinds of odds and ends for every emergency imaginable, the most important was absent – the burn ointment. Grinding his teeth he reached for his crutches and raised cumbersomely. However, the pain flaring up from his injured hand reminded him instantly that a hike up to the hospital wing was out of question. Resigning, he turned to the fireplace to call Madam Pomfrey.

ooo

"This tincture usually works just fine," said the healer, as she put a stopper in the little bottle and placed it back on the shelf.

Certainly this tincture works, Snape thought grudgingly, he had brewed it himself and also used it many times already. Because even if one acted with utmost caution – a Potions Master was never immune to accidents at work every now and then. Under normal circumstances, however, he would have had this cure at hand to treat himself… Annoyed over his carelessness he made a mental note to look over his lab's emergency equipment. He couldn't run to Madam Pomfrey with every little blister, after all…

"So," she said after a last check on the bandage. "Does it still hurt?"

Snape shook his head. "It's endurable. Thank you, Poppy."

"You should go easy on it today. Tomorrow everything should be fine…"

"_Poppy…? Are you there?"_

Green flames appeared in the fireplace, and in the middle hovered the head of Minerva McGonagall.

"Ah, Minerva," Snape stated dryly. "Headache again?"

Both witches graced him with poisonous looks.

"I am here, Minerva," Madam Pomfrey answered. "What happened?"

"I'm in the hospital wing and need your help here. There was an incident in my class – a student got hurt," the Gryffindor said through the flames. "Severus, it might be prudent if you could come as well."

The Slytherin furrowed his brow. "What's the matter?"

"It's a student from your house."

"I'm coming," Snape nodded and McGonagall's head disappeared from the flames which died out instantly.

"I will go right through the Floo, Severus," Madam Pomfrey said.

"I won't," the Potions Master frowned. He definitely had no desire whatsoever to make an idiot of himself by falling out of the fireplace on the other side like a baboon, just because he couldn't keep the needed balance with the crutches.

"Don't hurry," said the healer understandingly. "I'm sure we won't run away until you arrive." Then she turned to the fireplace, threw a handful of Floo powder inside and was gone in the flames.

ooo

Snape slowly made his way up to the hospital wing, carefully reducing the pressure on his injured hand as much as possible. He entered the big ward and saw Madam Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall and Draco Malfoy standing around the second bed on the right. They turned when they noticed his arrival.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," said Draco, politely but seriously.

"Professor Snape," nodded the Gryffindor Head of House.

The Slytherin cast a brief glance to the hospital bed on which the softly whimpering Vincent Crabbe laid. The thick, ulcerous pustules which covered his head and neck were treated by Madam Pomfrey. Snape gave her a inquisitive look.

"It's not permanent," she said. "I want to keep Mr Crabbe here for the rest of the day, but the boils can be cured easily and will be gone by tomorrow at the latest."

"Good," Snape said. "What happened?"

"Somebody cursed him," McGonagall answered. "It happened behind my back, so I couldn't see who was responsible. I have suspicions but no proof."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Draco?"

"It is… There are certain difficulties within our house presently, sir," the young man mumbled, looking to the floor.

"This hasn't escaped me, Draco," the Head of Slytherin frowned impatiently. "I want to know if this came from the students I suspect – MacKinnock? Zabini…? "

Draco nodded. "I believe this was MacKinnock's work, sir, although I have no proof either."

_Certainly_, Snape sighed inwardly. MacKinnock, an uncommunicative and inconspicuous student who preferably sat in the back of the classroom – and the father of whom got killed by Death Eaters when he refused to cooperate. It seems that a conversation with the young man in the near future would be prudent, he thought.

"Thank you, Draco," he said. "You can go to lunch now."

"Thank you, sir," the student answered and turned around,

"Ah… Draco?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Please tell Professor Shacklebolt that I will be late. He doesn't have to wait for me."

"I will, sir," Draco smiled and then left the room.

Snape smiled inwardly in view of the change the young Malfoy had undergone in the last two years. Not that he would ever have shown disrespect towards his Head of House and old friend of the family, but his sometimes blunt and boorish behaviour the Potions Master regarded as exceptionally short-sighted and in its primitiveness inadequate to the boy's heritage. The slow transformation to a young adult had made it easier for Dumbledore to entrust Draco with a status of responsibility. Snape gave the headmaster credit for this deeply symbolic sign of loyalty towards his house…

McGonagall cleared her throat and Snape turned around to face her.

"I am loath to meddle in affairs of your house, Severus, but the animosities between some of your students are reaching an alarming degree at this point."

The Slytherin frowned and his eyes narrowed dangerously. He indeed didn't agree when other people interfered in his area of responsibility.

"Apart from today's incident a small group of students is constantly disturbing classes," McGonagall continued undeviating. "As if the rivalries between Slytherin and Gryffindor students would not be unnerving enough, no, the constant ruckus continues within your house now."

"I will see what I can do, Minerva," Snape snapped acidly. "I'm afraid that I was forced to slacken the reins on my house in the recent past, for regrettable but comprehensible reasons."

"Severus, don't take that personally, please," the elderly witch said, shaking her head. "Neither did I want to complain nor did I want to dictate you how to guide your house. I just thought you needed to know."

Snape cast her a brief side glance. "Thank you."

"How are you lately, Severus?"

"Lately… better," the Slytherin answered truthfully. "Poppy said that she is going to allow me back to teaching soon."

McGonagall smiled. "I'm glad to hear that," she said. "I miss my counterpart."

Together they left the ward. As they reached the long staircase to the ground floor Snape stopped.

"What happened to your hand?" the Gryffindor asked, noticing the bandage.

The Potions Master cautiously placed the first step on the stairs. "I burned my hand while brewing this morning. It's nothing serious."

"Severus…" McGonagall began reluctantly. "If you need help…"

"No," Snape interrupted her curtly.

"You know where to find me," the elderly colleague said, and Snape answered with a brief nod.

"Just move along, Minerva," he said as he noticed her descending the stairs patiently beside him. "You don't need to wait for me."

"I will go with you," she answered. "Lunch will be finished by now anyway, and my afternoon duties are only correcting papers – which can wait. Do you feel like a bite of lunch with me?"

For a moment Snape arched an eyebrow, but then he nodded and together they made their way to McGonagall's chambers.

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**A/N:** Please review :-) 

If you leave a logged-in review, I will be very happy to answer you via this new message-feature here.


	15. Decorations

**A/N**: Thank you for all your kind reviews, I hope this reply-message-thingy worked. :-)

If you go to my profile page you will find a new link to "**my forums**". There you can ask questions on my stories you'd like to see answered by me, or just engage in general discussion. If you feel like, please have a look.

My sincere gratitude goes, as always, to the kind people who helped me with this fic – **Persephone Lupin** for betaing the original story, **Ermione** for invaluable help on getting it finished (many ideas in the final three chapters are from her!), and certainly lovely **lucidity** for wrestling down my English bloopers. Remus' appearance in this chapter is for you, my dear!

Only one last chapter to go, which will be posted soon. Enjoy :-)

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**Decorations**

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"Take a seat, Severus," said Minerva McGonagall, and drew back one of the chairs at her living-room table. Snape slowly lowered himself on the chair, while the Gryffindor vanished the tartan-pattered decorative table covering and replaced it with an unobtrusive one. With another flick of her wand plates and glasses appeared, and another one conjured a platter filled with canapés and a jug of light herbal lemonade.

"Please," the elderly witch gestured, "help yourself."

Snape nodded and reached out for a canapé. "Thank you for the invitation, Minerva."

"My pleasure," answered McGonagall. "It's been too long anyway that we met outside of school- or order duty."

The Slytherin cast a side-glance at his colleague. "This memorial tonight…"

"Yes," she nodded and poured two glasses. "The Ministry delegation will arrive at six, and the event will start at seven."

"Ministry delegation?"

The Gryffindor nodded smiling. "Well, _delegation_ is maybe slightly exaggerated – Arthur and Remus will come. And Molly might as well," she added.

Snape sneered. Over the last months the Ministry politics had changed perceptibly. Even if his department hadn't gained much ground in reputation, Arthur Weasley at least gotten an aide and a pay rise. And since public service obviously had learned its lesson after the disaster with the giants, the Ministry unceremoniously established a new department for the relations to vampires, werewolves and similar creatures.

"Isn't Lupin employed in this new Ministry department now?"

"Severus," McGonagall answered somewhat rebukingly. "Remus is _head_ of the department."

"Which wouldn't have been that difficult to achieve, would it?" Snape stated sneeringly. "Given the fact that this department consists of only one employee."

However – despite the derision the Slytherin regarded these new circumstances as anything but unfavourable. As long as the werewolf had a job, the danger that the Headmaster would be haunted by another whim of generosity and employ him at Hogwarts was reduced to a minimum. With a satisfied smirk he reached out and took another canapé.

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Snape stood in front of his bedroom mirror and pensively examined the still too gaunt face of his reflection. The scar on his forehead was clearly visible on the sallow skin. _A medal_… He snorted disdainfully while adjusting the collar of his in silver and emerald green bordered black dress robes. Almost as if he had waited for it a soft knock sounded from the door. Sighing quietly he turned and moved towards the entrance.

As he opened the door, he was surprised to look into the face of Arthur Weasley. Arthur's former imperturbably sunny disposition had obviously received a scratch or two as well, since his smile died as his gaze graced Snape's body. The loss of his son Charlie was not as long ago as the memory could have faded yet.

"Arthur," Snape greeted him seriously and thus pulled back Arthur's thoughts to the present, obviously, since he bobbed his head and looked into the Potions Master's face.

"Severus," he said, while forcing a smile.

With a brief nod Snape gestured for him to enter.

"I see you don't need the wheelchair anymore? That's good," Arthur said, after he had stepped over the threshold. "I just came to give you something which might interest you. Molly and Remus are waiting in the entrance hall for me – and for you too," he added.

Although Snape was relieved that Arthur spared him the usual platitudes about his condition, he nevertheless raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Yes, for you," Arthur repeated, smiling and patting him on the shoulder. "But before we go I have something for you which you might want to take a look at." He produced a thick envelope from under his travelling cloak.

"What is it?" the Potions Master asked. "Shall I open it right away? Is it important?"

Arthur shook his head. "Read it in peace afterwards, it's not urgent. It's for you personally anyway."

"Very well. Please put it on the table in the living room."

"You have nice chambers here," Arthur said, sounding somewhat surprised, as he came back to the entrance, where Snape waited at the open door.

"What did you expect?" said Snape, as he stepped out into the corridor. "A mouldy torture chamber?"

The reddish flush that spread over Arthur's ears and his sheepish expression told the Slytherin that he wasn't that far off with his guess. Automaticly a corner of his mouth curled upwards.

"Let us go," he said. "I'm afraid that I cannot move that fast any longer, and we wouldn't want to keep the others waiting, now would we?"

Arthur cast him a concerned look, but the warning expressions on the Potions Master's face made his already opened mouth close on the spot.

"I am alright," Snape said curtly. "Let's go."

Together they ascended the chairs to the ground floor, where they saw Molly and Lupin waiting on the other side of the entrance hall. When Molly noticed them she waved and approached them, while Lupin followed behind her.

"Severus," she greeted him cordially. "How good to see you!"

Molly Weasley was one of the very few people from whom Snape accepted a declaration like this as coming from the heart. And Molly Weasley was also one of the very few people who could force out a smile from him.

"Good evening, Molly," he said. Molly smiled at him and looked him over from head to toe. Molly Weasley also managed on a regular basis to make him feel like a teenage schoolboy in her presence.

"You look very nice," she stated, but her jovial expression couldn't hide the traces either, which the last months of war and the death of her son had drawn.

"Thank you," answered Snape when his gaze fell upon Lupin, who was standing behind Molly.

"Severus," said Lupin. "How are you?"

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "_Excellent_, Lupin," he answered. "I heard that you have found employment after all? I hope the Ministry pays well for the first-hand experience you provide?"

"Don't tell me you bothered yourself with thoughts on my financial well-being, Severus," Lupin smiled.

Narrowing his eyes, the Slytherin examined the lycanthrope. His robes were new and fashionable, and he seemed healthier than he had been for years. A comfortable sensation over these realisations spread in Snape's body, leaving him relieved. "Well, one gives a thought here and there, doesn't one? I see that you now dress yourself according to your _representative_ position…"

"The Minister is still with Albus," interrupted Molly the burgeoning tension. "They should arrive any moment. Why don't we just go in and have a seat in the meantime?"

Since the crowds of students pouring into the Great Hall had increased significantly as well, nobody objected. The Hall was decorated festively in all four house colours, and the teachers' table at the end of the Hall had been expanded so that the guests could find their place there as well. As the group slowly made their way across the Hall, and passing the tables of the students, Snape noticed some snippets of agitated whispering on his left. A small group of Slytherins were sitting aloof on the other end of the table, engaged in discussion and gesticulating wildly. When they became aware of their Head of House's stern look the conversation died out instantly. However, Snape realised that they didn't even bother to hide the frowns in his direction. His expression hardened…

"Well, Professor Snape? In proper festive mood and prepared to receive the glory?"

Kingsley's voice from behind made Snape startle. He stopped and slowly turned around. The Ravenclaw approached with quick paces, the billowing midnight-blue dress robe adding an unobtrusive but dignified elegance to his tall figure. When he saw Snape's frown his smile died.

"What's the matter?" he asked concernedly.

The Potions Master didn't answer but just nodded inconspicuously in the direction of the Slytherin table.

"Oh," commented Kingsley quietly, biting his lower lip. Snape gave him a telling glance and shook his head.

"Let's sit down," he said, turning to the teachers' table where most of the seats were already occupied and where Molly, Arthur and Lupin already sat too. Only their seats and the two for the Headmaster and the Minister in the middle were still free.

"Look, there are even little cards with our names," Kingsley said smiling, while he greeted friends and colleagues on both sides. He waited until Snape had settled down and then stowed away the crutches.

"What… are you hurt?" he asked concerned as he noticed the Potions Master's bandaged hand.

_Not again_…, Snape sighed inwardly. "Not to worry, Kingsley," he answered quietly. "It's nothing serious, just a minor burn."

Kingsley furrowed his brow and apparently wanted to ask further, but the Potions Master graced him with a warning frown. "Later," he growled, hoping that Kingsley would have forgotten the question until then and he would not be forced to reveal his clumsiness once again.

Snape let his gaze sweep over the Great Hall, thinking by himself that this festivity effectively left him relatively cold. Even if he was never a big friend of suchlike events – not so long ago he would have felt deep personal satisfaction at least at the prospect of being decorated. However, now all the fuss around seemed more like an unnecessary requirement to him. For a brief moment he even caught himself longing to have endured all this and be back in his quarters. He looked back to his house's table. There were much more pressing problems currently pending than decorations or memorial services…

The noise level dropped as finally Albus Dumbledore and the new Minister entered the Great Hall. The new Minister of Magic was an example for the aimed at and pushed through "restart" within the magical world: Honfridus Quixwood was a long serving Ministry functionary – competent but always acting in the background. Important decisions had often bore signs of his style, but he had always dissembled any hints of his personal political preference. He was a Hufflepuff and an unknown quantity in public – thus making him the perfect interim candidate for the job. Snape knew that especially Albus Dumbledore stuck up for him and he saw the logic in that decision. The Minister nodded politely but somewhat reserved to all sides, while the Headmaster raised his hand and the noise in the Hall faded away.

"Dear students and colleagues, honoured guests," Dumbledore began his speech with an unusually serious voice, and all eyes turned to the teachers' table.

Apparently, the Headmaster had bowdlerised his speech all unnecessary melodramatic cants. Still, Snape noticed Kingsley by his side fighting to contain his emotions. He knew that the Ravenclaw still mourned for his former Head of House, and even he was touched by the thought of Hagrid, Flitwick and all the other victims of the war.

"…a minute of silent commemoration." Dumbledore paused for the attendees to rise for a minute's silence. Snape pressed his lips together. The utterly profane problem of the situation abruptly brought his musings back to reality, since the crutches were leaned against the wall and out of inconspicuous reach. While he still considered how to master the situation as discreetly as possible low whispering and murmur became perceptible. The Slytherin rose his head and his gaze fell on …his house's table! He narrowed his eyes as he saw that the small group around MacKinnock on the table's end had remained seated with ostentation and glared at the teachers' table defiantly.

The whispering became louder, and Snape realised that more and more eyes turned into his direction. Inhaling sharply through his nose he answered his students' improper behaviour with a deep frown.

"Kingsley," he said lowly. Fortunately the Ravenclaw realised the problem and secretly lent him his arm to help him rise. Snape definitely didn't want to further feed public agitation by not rising either. The mutinous Slytherins, however, remained seated.

After the minute had passed the Headmaster flicked his wand to unveil a simple commemorative plaque and then let the Minister have the floor while everybody sat down again.

Now come the _decorations_, Snape thought, a corner of his mouth twitching. He cast Kingsley a side-glance who tensed his shoulders and smiled back. The Minister recalled Harry Potter's accomplishments first, which caused a similar racket from the students like at the welcome feast. He then called the members of the teachers' staff who would be receiving a decoration in alphabetical order. A stoic expression plastered on his face, Snape followed the ceremony until the letter "S".

"Professor Kingsley Shacklebolt," said the Minister and Kingsley rose. It wasn't the first decoration the former Auror received, but it was the highest, and Kingsley accepted the medal with appropriate respect.

"Master of Potions and Head of Slytherin House, Professor Severus Snape," the Minister turned to Snape. Kingsley handed him the crutches and he stood up. Clearing his throat the minister opened a little dark box in which a medal on triangular ribbon lay on a small velvet cushion.

"Professor Snape, it is my honour to bestow upon you the Order of Merlin, First Class," he said, taking the medal out of the box, "in gratitude for your contribution to the final defeat of Lord Voldemort, and as a recognition for the personal sacrifices you had to make in the course of it."

Snape had to force himself not to grimace at this declaration. Still – when the minister finally pinned the medal to his robe and then put forth his hand, he felt a tinge of satisfaction rise.

"Thank you, Professor," the Minister said, shaking his hand. "I wish you all the best."

After a slight bow of his head Snape slowly sat back down while the Minister turned around for the next award.

"Head of Hufflepuff House, Professor Pomona Sprout…"

That was it then. Now he finally got his decoration. Somewhat covertly he looked down his chest and glanced at the silvery gleaming medal when a soft chuckle to his left caught his attention.

"So you are pleased after all," whispered Kingsley grinning and gave him a wink.

A nearly imperceptible smile played around the Slytherin's lips. "It seems appropriate," he answered lowly, while Pomona Sprout got the final medal pinned to her chest.

After the Minister had taken his place again Dumbledore announced the end of the ceremony, and a few moments later all tables sagged because of the load of appearing food.

During the feast the Headmaster approached Snape and laid his hand on his shoulder from behind.

"Severus," he said. "Please come to my office tomorrow morning. I would like to discuss something with you."

Arching an inquiring eyebrow Snape looked at Dumbledore, but the Headmaster shook his head.

"Not now," Dumbledore answered, smiling impishly. "Have you tried the roast beef? It's remarkably delicious," he said before he turned and left a confused Snape to himself and his dinner.

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**A/N:** In case you wondered – I will leave the internal conflict in Slytherin House unresolved - at least in this fic. I believe that a civil war (and this war here is nothing else) is one of the most traumatising thing a society could possibly experience, and thus cannot be solved quickly – not even by Snape ;-). It needs several generations to "get back to normal" as we see in reality as well. I've been thinking of (the internal aspects of) WW2 and the years afterwards in Central Europe, and of the Chinese Cultural Revolution – both conflicts have been decades ago, but still linger within society to a certain extent. Only time will finally heal all wounds. 

The "Epilogue" will follow soon. :-)


	16. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

With a firm thrust the professor pushed the door to the classroom open, from which the low murmur of the waiting seventh-years of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw could be heard in the corridor. Taking a deep breath he leaned on the crutches and entered the room. After he finally placed himself in front of the teacher's desk even the last whisper from the students had yielded to anxious silence. The class stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and tense expectation. As he inhaled deeply his lips automatically curled into a comfortable sneer.

"You are here to study the effective and efficient methodology of Defence against the Dark Arts. Even if some of you might be under the mistaken impression that the value of this subject has decreased in the light of the Dark Lord's demise – that is not so."

He made a pause and let his gaze glide over the rows of students. They seemed to hold their breath – it was so quiet that one could have heard a pin drop.

"I will teach you how to brace yourself against fatal poisons, deflect dark curses and face dangerous creatures in an appropriate manner," he continued smoothly. "And since there will be final exams held this year we will have a lot to do and must not dally. Open your books to page five and read the first chapter."

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The day after the decoration ceremony Snape came to the Headmaster's office as told. After they had exchanged the usual greeting phrases and Snape had taken a seat, Dumbledore surveyed him with a smile on his lips.

"When will you be able to get back to work, Severus?" he asked with an innocent expression.

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Poppy said in one or two weeks."

"Excellent," smiled Dumbledore. "Can you bring the curriculum for Defence against the Dark Arts up-to-date within two weeks?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand…" the Potions Master answered reluctantly. _Did Albus want him to make the preparations for the new professor? He couldn't be serious!_

"Well, I assume you wouldn't want to start teaching the subject unprepared, would you?" the Headmaster chuckled, amused.

"What…" Snape's jaw dropped. He didn't know what to say.

"You should see your face," Dumbledore laughed – whereupon the Slytherin closed his mouth and braced his posture.

"You are saying that…"

"Your application for the job is still open, I hope?

"Certainly," answered Snape and furrowed his brow. "This, however, comes slightly unexpectedly…"

"Well, Severus," Dumbledore said, his expression serious again. "Voldemort's downfall brought a shift in perspective in this case as well. I think you are ready to take the task now."

"Thank you, Albus," the Potions Master answered. "Thank you for your trust. I will start with composing the curriculum right away."

"Very good," the Headmaster smiled. "Concerning Potions classes – you cannot teach two subjects for the entire school. I have found a promising young teacher who could take over the younger classes. This means that there would be only the two highest years for Advanced Potions classes left for you – if this would be alright for you, certainly," he added.

Snape gulped. This meant that he wouldn't have to deal with the little brats any longer. Students who chose to study Advanced Potions usually showed at least some interest in the art of potion-making, which made teaching them at least tolerable. He tried not to show his delight at these prospects all-too obviously and took a deep breath.

"This is definitely fine for me, Albus."

ooo

So he hurled himself into the establishment of the updated curriculum. To Snape's utter surprise the young teacher even turned out somewhat capable, and thus he could take over Potions classes from Professor Sprout right after his arrival.

Furthermore, in the course of the week Snape ordered MacKinnock and other mutinous students from his house to his office for a long and emphatic discussion. He knew that this wouldn't solve the problem but he at least hoped that it would ease the current situation. And time would help out eventually…

A couple of days ago he also remembered the envelope Arthur had given him and which he had forgotten on the mantelpiece since then. At the moment he opened it and a handful of colourful and strangely folded papers fell in his lap Kingsley came over for a visit.

"What are these?" the Ravenclaw asked, taking a seat.

Snape flipped through the bizarre leaflets puzzled while he slightly befuddledly scratched the scar on his forehead. The papers were obviously of Muggle-origin since the photographs and weird illustrations didn't move.

"Arthur gave it to me," he answered. "Seems like brochures for Muggle medicine… _orthopaedics_… _prostheses_…"

"Maybe this could be something for you," said Kingsley. "There are a lot of fields in which the technological research results of Muggles are at least on par to our magical solutions. Let me have a look…"

Hope burgeoned in the Slytherin, as he handed over the brochures to Kingsley. _A new leg_…? His heart started to beat faster at the thought. But then he grimaced and shook his head.

"Poppy said these things won't work in our environment," he said quietly.

"Severus," Kingsley answered. "Nothing against Poppy – she is a remarkable healer, but she is no specialist for Muggle orthopaedics. You should at least talk to her and show her these papers."

Snape emitted a dry bark of laughter. "And what for? Just to learn again that this won't be an option? I have far more pressing matters to take care of then to wallow in unrealisable illusions."

Kingsley shook his head and smiled. "Don't underestimate Muggles, Severus. That's an elementary problem in our society, if I may say so. You would be surprised in the innovative ways they tend to go to make up their lack of magic. And I daresay that this is not different when it comes to their healing practises."

"Pah!" Snape snorted disdainfully and placed the brochures on the side table. He didn't intend to let himself get frustrated anew – not after all he had been through.

But still – the idea didn't leave him alone. Kingsley's words continued to ring in his ears all afternoon – so vehemently that he finally gave in and met Madam Pomfrey. As he showed her Arthur's strange papers her eyes widened with interest. And on the same day still she flooed St. Mungo's to establish contact to the corresponding Muggle institutions for planning of the further procedure.

o

ooo

o

Lost in thoughts the professor sat behind his desk while the class read the first chapter of the textbook. Beyond the bowed heads of the students he stared into space and didn't even notice the unintended smile that played around his lips. As he felt a pair of eyes rest upon him he narrowed his eyes and his gaze focussed at the source – two emerald green eyes behind round glasses.

The Slytherin felt strangely caught and adjusted his facial expression back into a – more appropriate to his teaching – frown. Yet Potter didn't drop his gaze back onto his book. Instead he put up his chin and answered the professor's glare.

And while an impish smile broadened on the young man's face he slowly raised his hand and – with a slight appreciatory nod – touched his scar.

o

_The End_

o

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**A/N:** Dear readers, that's it. Thank you very much for reading my humble story, I hope you enjoyed it (well, if you read it until here I do hope you did it because you liked it, and not because somebody standing behind you with a big club and forcing you ;-)). Thanks a lot for all the kind and constructive reviews you gave me, they helped a lot. My special thanks go – certainly – to my great Betas, _Persephone Lupin_, _Ermione_ and _Lucidity_, you are the best! Go and read their stories, they are much better than mine :-) 

As a last favour I would kindly ask you for a last review. I would appreciate it very much if you could tell me what you liked in my story and what you didn't like. Don't be shy, I can handle critique – especially since I assume that I know most of the flaws in this story anyway ;-). From my profile page you can find a link to "my forums", where I invite you to discuss if you feel like. And there is also always the option of email or personal message if you don't want to leave an open comment. Ah well, I should stop now. Thanks a lot; it was a pleasure to write and translate this story :-)

As for my new story, _Killer in me_, I'm currently working on chapter three but I unfortunately still cannot guarantee any frequent updates soon.


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